Stockholm
by Obsidianna
Summary: "You'll learn to love your chains." - AU !DarkEmma
1. Prologue

**It's been a while since I last posted a story. I had this one all planned out and partially written for a very long time but I never got around to post it. It's a very dark piece, which is set in FTL. It's completely AU from the get go. It deals with what could have been if Emma had been brought up in the Enchanted Forest and if Regina had decided to take Emma for revenge agaisnt Snow. Like I said, it's dark, very dark. Hope you like it. If you do, it'll give me the inspiration I need to finish the last chapters. So let me know your thoughts.**

 **Disclaimer:** All characters and situations used herein are fictitious, and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.

 **General Warnings:** Graphic violence, abuse, mentions of rape, corruption of a minor, dub-con sex.

* * *

 **STOCKHOLM**

 **"You'll Learn To Love Your Chains"**

* * *

The usually overcrowded, cheerful halls of the castle are now uncharacteristically empty. The gleeful voices of the staff can no longer be heard. Every single sound that normally surrounds the castle halls has been muffled, or suppressed into nothingness.

This detail doesn't disturb her, though. She's completely unaware of the lack of soldiers posted on each door, or the absence of servants walking down the halls, busy with their daily chores. It should unnerve her, though. It should at least come to her attention, make her realize that something is not right, but she's a child, and children are usually oblivious to danger.

If anything, the lack of human life in the halls makes the _pitter patter_ of her pretty shoes echo loudly as she skips happily on the marble floor.

Instead of worrying her, or making her wonder where everyone is, this absence makes her strangely happy. Having no one to pamper her or follow her around all the time is nice for a change.

As a princess, and sole heir to the throne, she's always in the custody of a watchful guard. Sometimes, it's her maid who follows after her, having to run to catch up with her. Other times, it's one of her mom's personal guards who follows her like a shadow, silent, but always on vigil.

It bores her. She's an adult now, even though her mom doesn't agree, and she has a right to be on her own, without a constant babysitter following everywhere around. That's why she's thankful for this sudden absence of staff in the halls. It makes her feel free, in a way she's never been before. She only wishes she could make her mom and dad understand that this is what she wants: _freedom_.

As she skips down the hall, she notices that the light of the torches hanging on the walls is progressively dimming. She realizes this only because the small flames cast large shadows on the marble floor. Her own body looks like a long, stretched-out stick figure. The odd looking shadow would make her giggle, were it not be for the shivers that assault her body.

It's cold.

She comes to a stop. Skipping isn't fun anymore, not when it's this dark, lonely and cold in the halls. She hasn't seen anyone in at least half a candle mark, so she has no one to order to fetch her one of her fur coats. She has a new one that daddy bought a few weeks ago that she hasn't used yet. It's still fall in the Enchanted Forest and the weather hasn't been particularly cold yet. She wonders why it is so cold now.

She wraps her own arms around her body, trying to rub some warmth into her skin. She's trembling. Where is everyone anyway?

She starts to walk again, not without chancing a look over her shoulder first. She doesn't know how she didn't notice it before, but there's something wrong about the eerie silence of the castle halls. She heads down to the Throne Room, because it's close and because maybe the big fire will be lit there. She can get warmed up there again.

Lucky for her, the Throne Room is literally just around the corner. So, she turns left, into the largest hall of the castle and immediately sees that the big, double-doors of the Throne Room are partially open. Light filters into the hall, as well as the sound of voices.

She smiles in relief when she hears her dad's voice saying, "And you look like you haven't aged a day."

She runs to the double-doors, wanting to get to her dad as fast as possible. There's something about the darkness of the halls that is finally getting to her. She's not skittish, but she's also never seen the halls look so _lifeless_ before.

"That's because I haven't."

She stops right in front of the door, and presses herself as close to the wood as she can, wanting to make herself invisible, for the time being. She peaks her head through the crack, which is wide enough for her to get a look at what is going on, but narrow enough to not be discovered by the people inside.

Her parents are there. They are sitting on the high Council chairs on one end of the large table, so close to each other that their heads could bump into each other at any time. At the opposite end, there's a single high chair. From where she is standing, she can't see who is sitting there but because of the tone of voice, she knows it's a woman.

It occurs to her that maybe this is the Queen that she overheard her mom say was going to discuss a peace treaty with them at the castle.

For a long minute, she thinks about stepping inside the room and greeting the Queen like a Princess should. But she stops herself when her mom breaks the silence.

"Enough. We're here to discuss a peace treaty, not to instigate yet another war."

"My dear Snow. Alas something intelligent comes out of your treacherous little mouth."

Her eyes widen at the accusation. She had never heard anyone call her mother a traitor. Her mother is known for her kindness throughout the realm. She is fair and just to everyone. She knows her mom would never hurt a soul. So this Queen is mistaken about her. Her mom is the best person in all the Enchanted Forest.

She sees her dad suddenly stand, the chair screeching in protest, and slam a hand on the wooden table.

"Enough, Regina!"

Snow puts a hand on his upper arm and tugs gently. "Charming." She tugs a few more times, until her dad looks at her. "Please."

Charming sighs, but does as his wife tells him to. He plops himself down on the chair and sits back against it, letting his wife take control of the situation.

Snow waits until Charming is back in his seat before procuring a white parchment and spreading it over on the table.

"This is what we have to offer," she says in a soft, but steady voice. One that says that she is not playing with this.

One of her mother's guards comes into view. He walks over to her mother's side and picks up the peace treaty in his hands. Then, he delivers it to the Queen, who reads it in silence.

After a minute of absolute tension, Emma can see how the Queen lays down the parchment on the table and pushes it away with her long and slender fingers.

"This is a waste of time, Snow," She says in her steely, unwavering voice.

Emma can see her mother pale visibly under the light of the torches. Surprise is written all over her face. It's clear, even to her, that both her mother and father were sure that this would work.

"Gold?" The Queen asks in disdain. "A land that is already mine?" The Queen stands up abruptly, finally coming into view.

From where she's standing, Emma can make out the back of her dress, which is made of black satin with silvery embroidery, and her long, jet black hair, that is half loose, half up, and secured with a silver clasp.

"If this is your attempt at a peace treaty, dear…"

"Please, Regina," Her mother pleads, coming to a stand and walking towards the Queen. She stops halfway there, not daring to go any closer.

Emma had never heard her mother plead to anyone before. It strikes her that this Queen, Queen Regina, is the woman whom her dad's army has been fighting against for the last few years. She doesn't know much about the war, because her parents had made sure she never learned the details but she always liked to eavesdrop on the castle staff. That's how she learned that the war is a gruesome one, that is resulting in too many lives lost, mostly from her Kingdom. The servants whisper that her parents are losing the war. Maybe that is way they are trying to come to an agreement with Queen Regina, to stop more innocent people from dying.

"If this is all you have to offer me, Snow, then I decline."

"No," Her mother whispers, looking as scared as Emma has ever seen her. It scares her too. "Please. There has to be something that you want."

"I think I just made myself clear, dear. There is nothing you can offer that can be of interest to me."

The Queen outstretches her hand and the chair that had been behind her moves backwards on its own, allowing her free space to move.

"Magic." Emma whispers in fascination. She'd never seen someone casting magic before.

"We can give you more gold," Charming chides, joining his wife's side.

Emma watches Regina scowl in distaste at her parent's offer. Inadvertently, her heart begins to pound in her chest. It's clear to her that the negotiation isn't going as planned and Emma worries about her parents and their subjects. If the servant's whisperings are true, innocent people are being slaughtered.

She wonders what it would take to appease a Queen like Regina. She does not wish for gold or lands. She has soldiers already, more than her parents.

"I want something of substance," Regina says through gritted teeth, dragging every word with professed anger. "The war is mine. I am winning it. Give me one reason why I shouldn't just finish squashing your petty subjects, dear."

An idea strikes her and before she can have time to mull over it, Emma bursts into the Throne Room, causing all three heads to turn to her.

"Take me," Emma announces in a firm tone, holding her head up high, looking every inch the Princess that her mother taught her how to be.

The Queen is finally eye to eye with her and Emma has to make an effort not to lower her eyes before her. She's imposing, in a way that her mother never was, and her eyes are as hard and unforgiving as steel. Emma has never seen darker eyes than hers before.

For a fleeting moment, she regrets having spoken up but she doesn't have time to take it back. Queen Regina is already addressing her directly.

"And exactly who are you, my sweet child?"

Emma frowns in surprise at the gentle tone of voice the Queen uses with her. It's unlike the harsh tone she'd been using with her parents. Even her features seem to soften somewhat, her dark eyes sparkle with something Emma can't recognize, and she finds herself smiling up at this Queen. A Queen that, by all means, she should despise.

"I'm Emma…"

"Emma, no." Her mother warns, but it's too late.

"Princess Emma. Daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming." She finishes the sentence.

When the Queen smiles at her, and as she mirrors it, she fails to notice the malice hidden in those deceiving beautiful features.

"You never told me you had a daughter, Snow." The Queen says over her shoulder with a dazzling smile, aimed solely at Emma.

The petite blonde feels enthralled by the Queen's beauty and the undivided attention she's paying to her. It doesn't occur to Emma how a Queen with a smile as mesmerizing as the one Regina has could be so evil so as to wage a war against her parent's Kingdom. Surely the servants exaggerate in their gossiping, because she cannot believe this Queen capable of doing the atrocities they accuse her of.

"Maybe because I didn't want you to use her against me, Regina," Snow replies somberly.

Emma breaks out of her daze to look past the Queen and to her mother. She looks sad, though Emma cannot possibly fathom why. She sweeps her eyes over to her dad, who is standing at her mother's right side. He seems expectant; his hand on the hilt of his sword.

When Emma looks back to the Queen, she sees she's smiling at her again and that her eyes are twinkling, making them seem lighter than they are.

"Tell me, dear," The Queen says, sounding curious and strangely excited, "What was it that you said?"

Emma had seen the deed done before: Kings taking their enemies' sons into custody as leverage during a war. Apparently, an heir was a prize good enough for any sovereign, and if Queen Regina didn't wish for gold, lands or men, she would surely accept her.

At first, when the idea sprang to her mind, Emma thought it would be hard, to give herself away like that but now that she's come face to face with the Queen, it doesn't seem so bad at all. Queen Regina doesn't look like what the servants made her out to be. She's kind to her and she really is paying her attention. Emma never had another royal paying her this much attention before. It makes her feel special.

"I propose another treaty," Emma says, again trying to use her most confident tone, like her mother had taught her.

When you speak to your subjects or to an equal, she explained, you must sound confident. Otherwise, your word will not be taken seriously.

"Emma, what are you doing?" Her father asks in fright, taking a step closer to her.

The moment he does, two of Regina's soldiers come up to block his way with their swords.

Emma frowns as she watches her father struggle against the soldier's grip on him. He looks alarmed and it's beginning to grow on her too.

"Let him go," Emma says, unable to tear her eyes from the scene.

She's about to raise her voice and demand her father be released when she feels a soft finger on her skin. Her green eyes dart back to meet Regina's swirling dark ones, staring intently into hers. They are so close that they could very well be breathing into each other. It should make her uncomfortable, but it doesn't.

Queen Regina slowly slides her finger across her jaw-line, in a subtle and delicate caress. "Let him go," Regina commands, not breaking eye contact with her.

Emma can see out of the corner of her eye how Regina's soldiers immediately let her father go and take a few steps back, allowing him to move freely again.

"Tell me more about this treaty, my child." Regina's finger tilts her chin upward, making Emma have to gaze at her through heavy lidded eyes.

The girl swallows before answering, and her neck is craned in such an awkward angle, that she ends up gulping audibly. She tries not to feel embarrassed but her cheeks blush anyway.

"Stop the war and I'll go with you, to your castle."

"Emma, no!" Snow shouts, taking both her hands to her mouth, looking horrified.

Her father tries to get close to her again but the same soldiers stop him before he's able to take more than a few steps.

Emma's eyes widen, when she sees her parents so visibly appalled by the idea. She feels guilty, like when it was the maidservant's son's birthday and she dipped a finger in his birthday cake before he could blow out the candles. Only this time, it actually seems worse.

Before she can take back what she said, before she even has time to go over her words once more, Regina is rising to her full height and turning her back on Emma, to address Snow and Charming.

"I agree to the terms."

"No!" Snow screams, tears suddenly springing from her eyes.

Regina flicks her wrist and a whole new piece of parchment appears out of a purple cloud of smoke. She lets the parchment roll down, until it's spread out before them.

"Here's your peace treaty, Snow." Regina informs her with a cold, heartless voice again. She slams the treaty down on the table. "You can go over the details as much as you want."

"No," Snow says in a wobbly voice, choking on her tears. "I don't want this. I did not sign for this."

Regina sneers at her, enjoying every single one of her tears. "No, your precious daughter did."

"She's just a child, Regina." Charming grits out, wrestling against Regina's soldiers, "You leave her out of this."

Regina turns to look at her, then. Her eyes have darkened and the sweet smile she was sporting just moments ago, has now turned into a smug, evil smirk.

"How old are you, child?"

"Almost thirteen."

"What a lovely coincidence," The Queen says, whirling around again. "She's the same age you were when you murdered my fiancée, Snow."

"That's not-"

"If at age twelve you were old enough to _kill_ , she's old enough to become her people's new martyr."

"No," Snow cries, unable to hold back her tears. "I did not kill Daniel, Regina." She whispers brokenly, as if she's suddenly no more than a helpless child herself.

"You were supposed to keep a secret and you _lied_!" Regina shouts, infuriated. "You killed him, and now I'm going to have my revenge by taking the thing you love most."

"No, please." Snow cries, taking a tentative step forward, "We'll give you anything you want, anything."

Regina smirks. "Silly girl," she says and points to Emma with her finger. " _This_ is what I want."

Emma, who had been watching their interactions in silence, emotionally unable to utter a word, finally seems to sense the weight of her predicament. She'd just handed herself over to her mother's mortal enemy. She did not know who this Queen was before, but now she knows exactly who she is. Her mother's bedtime stories call her The Evil Queen.

A shiver runs down her spine and she feels hot tears blurring her vision, but she fights them back, not wanting to display any weaknesses before this cruel woman. Realization dawns on her, about what is going to happen to her. She's still learning, but she knows what a martyr means.

"Are you going to kill me?" Emma hears herself ask.

Regina doesn't turn to look at Emma when she says, "Unlike your mother, I don't kill innocent people." Then, she sweeps past her, messing up her blonde curls in her wake, and heads for the doors. "I'll come back for her at midnight."

 **[x]**

She can hear her mother's cries from across the corridor. She's not making any effort to suppress the anguished sobs that tear from her chest. Every two to three minutes, she can also hear the sound of something breaking. Sometimes it sounds like the shattering of porcelain vases against the marble floors, others it's a dry sound, like the kind wood makes when it breaks in half.

Emma knows that as her mother cries and screams in anguish, her father goes about the room, breaking havoc and destroying every single item that he comes across.

She hasn't been alone in her chambers for long, but to Emma, it feels like an eternity has passed. She hasn't cried, although she feels devastated inside. She never knew that a selfless action like that one she'd done would cause so much suffering for her parents. She was just trying to do the right thing, like her father taught her.

"You need to put your people first, Emma." He would say.

That's what she'd done. She had put her people first. She hadn't thought of anyone but her people. She hadn't thought of her parents, or how they would react. She hadn't thought of herself, and what destiny would have in store for her from now on. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe she shouldn't have rushed to act.

Like her mother would always tell her: "Act. Don't react."

Emma bites down on her lip, blinking away the tears that were beginning to form below her lids.

She hadn't acted, she'd reacted.

She'd heard Queen Regina refusing her parent's offer for peace and all the faces of those innocent lives lost in the war had popped up in her mind, begging her to do something, to help them. She'd held the key to the door that hid the answer. Was she supposed to turn her back on it? Was she supposed to put herself first instead of prioritizing the thousands of lives that would be saved in exchange for hers?

If there was something her parents had taught her, it was to be selfless and brave. She'd put her people first before her own needs, or even her parent's. Surely they would understand. Surely they would realize that she'd been right to do what she did, to bargain her own life to end the war.

Emma had been so caught in her own thoughts that she did not hear her mother's cries cease. She was only brought back from her reverie when she heard the doorknob slowly turning and the door creaking open.

Emma lifts her head, coming face to face with her parents. As they tentatively creep into the room, as if mindful not to step on imaginary shards of glass as they move, Emma can't help but notice the tear tracks on her mother's face or the way her father's eyes are red-rimmed and slightly puffy.

They both had been crying. But not her, she hadn't cried a single tear since she had sealed her fate.

"Emma, honey," Snow whispers brokenly, dropping to her knees in front of her and reaching for her hands. "You know we love you, right?"

Her mother's big blue eyes brim with tears. There's so much feeling in her words, so much pain. Emma can feel it as if it were her own. She feels for her mother, for her father, who is gazing down at her with the saddest smile she's ever seen him wearing.

Emma has never been good with professing her feelings. Her mother says it's the age, that she'll be more outspoken when she grows up. Tonight, though, she has no problem putting into words the storm that's raging inside her heart.

"I love you too," She says in a wobbly voice. "Mom, dad." She outstretches her arms in a silent invitation.

Neither of them takes more than a heartbeat to fall into her embrace, clutching, crying, feeling. Never in her short life has Emma experienced such heartbreak before. It's like she can feel her mother's pain creeping inside of her, or the way her father's heart is constricting in his chest.

She wants to hug them so tight that they'll morph into one being. Maybe that way they won't have to be separated, maybe that way she'll spare them the pain of her absence. She wants to tell them how much they mean to her, how much she loves them, but Emma finds the words eluding her, refusing to come out.

It's Snow who pulls out of the embrace first. She's holding the peace treaty that sealed her daughter's fate in her left hand. Emma's eyes widen. She'd not seen her mother holding the peace treaty up until now.

Snow holds it out and, as she bores her blue eyes into Emma's green ones, she says: "In exchange for ending the war, The Evil Queen will take you as hostage to her castle. You will remain there until you are of age…"

Emma's mouth opens to interrupt her mother, but she lifts a finger and silences her before any sound can come forth.

"When you turn eighteen you will be presented with the choice to stay in Regina's castle or come back to us."

Emma frowns, and Snow must see the confusion written on her face, because she explains, "I don't understand it either. Why keep you until you're of age and then set you free? But Emma she's giving you a way out. The Evil Queen is granting you the chance to come back to us." She smiles and the tears in her eyes spring down her cheeks. "In a fortnight you're turning thirteen. It's five years. Five years and we'll be together again."

It's unclear who Snow is trying to convince more, Emma or herself, but Emma does not mind. Even if it is five years, it's so much more than what they had a minute ago, and she knows, because her mother taught her, that hope is the strongest force of all. Thanks to this, now all three of them can hope again, hope to be reunited once more. And suddenly, five years doesn't seem longer than the blink of an eye.

Emma never heard of heirs being returned to their parents after any period of time. War hostages were war hostages, kept forever or even sometimes killed during their captivity. When she'd offered herself as leverage, Emma did not conceive the idea that she would ever be returned to her family. She'd thought about them rescuing her, but not about being freely given back to them.

It strikes her that maybe the Evil Queen is not so evil after all.

She smiles too then, because five years is less than half of what she's lived. She doesn't even remember the first five years of her life, maybe she won't even remember the five upcoming ones either.

And with this in mind, Snow White's daughter feels a weight lifting off her shoulders. She can do this and she will. She will see her parents again.

The sound of the wooden clock that Marco made for her on her tenth birthday rings loudly, snapping them all out of their haze, as the hands mark that it's five minutes to midnight.

That usual charged silence that anticipates a storm befalls around them, and Emma witnesses how her parents' expressions turn somber and fearful again.

Snow fishes inside one of her white pants pockets and retrieves a small pendant on a silver chain. "This was given to me by my father when I turned sixteen," she says as she lets the pendant hang down from her hand so that Emma can see it. It's a swan, encircled by a ring, all made of silver. "Swans are majestic and are said to have a sense of loyalty unlike any other creature." She cups Emma's cheek tenderly as she adds, "What you did today, the sacrifice you made, that was loyalty and selfless love in its purest form." Snow lifts the chain and clasps it around Emma's neck, letting the Swan rest against her chest. "This pendant connects you to your home, to your people." Snow says, taking the pendant in her hand and boring her eyes intently into her daughter's. "Don't let go of it, ever, that way we will always be together. Even when we're not."

The clock's hands mark the ending of the day and the start of a new one.

It's midnight already.

"I won't," Emma swears, throwing her arms around her parents' necks. "I will never let go of it."

"Well, well, well," A cold, steely voice breaks the loving moment, making all three heads snap around to take in the look of The Evil Queen. "It seems that your time has run out, Princess."

Charming stands up and unsheathes his sword, pointing its end toward the imposing Queen. He's poised to strike, every muscle in his body tense. Even his face has turned into a defiant expression, as if daring the Queen to come take his child.

Regina laughs malevolently, and her laughter joins the echoing of the clock hands, that resonate loudly across the room.

"Put down your sword," The Evil Queen seethes. "Don't make a fool of yourself in front of your darling daughter."

Emma watches a mixture of conflicting emotions crumpling her father's features. At first he looks like he's going to put up a fight but then he starts to lower his sword, slowly, almost inadvertently, until it hangs loosely at his side.

Regina smirks triumphantly at him, like she just made a point about who holds the upper hand here. Then, she extends a hand in Emma's direction but she keeps her eyes trained on Charming and his sword when she says, "Emma, dear. It's time."

Emma looks at the offered hand with apprehension as Snow tightens the hold on her tiny hands, almost crushing them in her desperation not to let her go. But Emma knows that the deed is done, there is no escaping it. They're only trying to delay the inevitable. She doesn't wish to go but she knows that if she doesn't, The Evil Queen will use magic to force her.

Slowly, Emma slides down from the mattress and her feet touch the marble floor. The pristine marble floors. Why had she never paid attention to the way the white marble intertwines with the black one in those intricate shapes before? Why is she paying attention to it now?

Her feet are moving, skidding over the marble, advancing toward her fate. A hand stops her, tugs her back. Emma turns her head over her shoulder. Her mother is crying and her mouth is opening and closing. She looks like she's saying something, maybe screaming for her not to go, but she can't hear her. It's like her mind is blocking out all external sounds. She knows that because the only thing she can hear is the frantic drumming of her heart against her ribcage, pounding harder with every step she takes closer to The Queen.

She's halfway there when Emma raises her eyes to look up into a pair of pitch black ones that swirl in a captivating dark dance. There's a twinkle in those conniving eyes. They scream in victory. The Queen's hand is still outstretched in her direction, silently prompting her to take her final steps.

Emma doesn't know why moving her legs is taking so much effort. It feels as if, with each step, they turn more and more into heavy, solid rocks, making it harder for her to move. If this is how the weight of destiny feels, then she understands why her father says that heavy is the head that wears the crown. She's young, but she's clever and she understands analogies better than most of the other children in her class. She never understood that one before, but she does now, with this horrible example of how much the weight of responsibility can bear down on one's shoulders when you know that what is coming will not be easy. But Emma holds her head high. If the crown of fate is on her head, she better not let it fall.

Outstretching her own small hand, Emma takes Regina's offered one and immediately closes her eyes when the Queen grips it so hard that she feels her bones protesting in pain. She forces herself to open them again. She wishes to imprint her parents' image in her mind forever.

There they are, huddling close, Charming's arm around his wife's waist, holding her up. Emma can see how her mother's knees are trembling, threatening to give out from under her.

Her father is the anchor. He always was, solemn and cool-headed as he is.

Emma smiles at him. She loves him. Then, her eyes sweep over to her crying mother. She loves her too.

"We _will_ meet again," she promises but she doesn't know if her parents ever hear her.

A cloud of purple smoke envelops her at that same moment, and then the marble floors under her feet caves in. The intricate shapes of the white and black marble floor intertwine, and a dull shade of grey is born out of their union. But it's not grey marble floor, it is stone, and it hurts her when she falls down hard on it on her knees, once the cloud of purple smoke disappears.

Emma grunts in pain, feeling the characteristic burn of scraped skin when she pushes herself up off the stone floor with her hands, until she's on all fours. Her head swims dizzily. Magical transportation doesn't sit well with her, it seems. She blinks and blinks, trying to merge her two horizons into one. But before she can recover herself from the magic and the fall, Emma is hauled to her feet by her upper arm.

The Evil Queen is behind her, gripping her arm with brute force and digging her sharp nails into her soft, pale skin. Emma hisses in protest but that only earns her a vicious push forward that makes her stumble and fall flat on her stomach again.

"Get up," The Evil Queen snarls, and the threat in her voice doesn't go unnoticed to Emma.

If she doesn't stand, she'll be made to.

Emma slowly staggers to her feet, fighting back the urge to rub her bloodied and dirty hands down her pretty white dress. Her mom would chastise her if she cleaned herself on her clothes. She never likes it when she does.

"Move." The Evil Queen commands.

Emma holds up her head and begins to walk down a dimly lit, narrow corridor. Both the floors and the walls are made of stone, which makes the place look as lifeless as it can be. Emma doesn't know why she expected the Queen to have pretty marble floors like the ones she has in her own castle.

Somehow, the way the torches seem to be dying out but never quite doing so completely, reminds her of the last set of halls she had walked along in what seems like an eternity ago, but was only just a couple of hours. Those torches, back in her castle, looked like their flame was being suffocated by lack of air. That was way these flames were dim, barely illuminating the halls at all.

As she walks, with The Evil Queen in tow, it occurs to her that maybe Regina was the one responsible for the torches. Maybe, whenever she walks in, she sucks the air right out of the room.

Emma chances a quick glance over her shoulder.

Or maybe the light dims because this Queen, clad in black as she is, is the very definition of darkness.

She doesn't even notice when the corridor turns into a descending flight of stairs. Stone steps, of course. She staggers forward and she would have fallen down head first, had The Evil Queen not grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Don't break your neck so soon, Princess." She says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Emma tries to shrug away from the Queen's grip on her, but Regina digs her nails deeper into her bare shoulder, effectively stopping her feeble attempt at breaking free. She waits, without moving, until The Evil Queen flicks her wrist and a ball of fire appears in her palm.

Emma's lips part in wonder and, for a moment, she forgets about her dire situation. After all, she's a child and all children love magic.

She's crudely brought back to reality when Regina gives her a push, prompting her to start climbing down the stairs. She does, one step at a time, trying to secure her footing as she goes, because these stones are irregular and the path downwards is swallowed in darkness. The only light down here is the one coming from The Evil Queen's magic flame and, since Emma is leading the way, she's getting the short end of the deal.

Somehow, Emma manages not to fall down the stairs and break her neck, like the Queen said.

The stairs lead to yet another narrow corridor, this one too plunged into darkness, but as they walk further in, and Regina's ball of fire illuminates the place, Emma's heart begins to beat faster against her chest.

There are cells here.

The whole corridor is filled with them, one beside the other, and as they walk, Emma can see the iron bars that secure each and every one of them. She doesn't see prisoners, though, only darkness.

Finally, The Evil Queen makes Emma stop in front of a cell that, at first sight, looks exactly just like the others but, upon closer inspection, you can notice the differences in _furniture_.

This cell has a tiny cot made of cement by the left wall, a bucket of water in the right corner and a pair of iron shackles hanging by a chain from the roof. There are no windows or torches, or any source of light in this cell.

Emma swallows nervously. The rest of the cells had torches.

Before she has time to process anything else, the iron bars of the cell slide open to the side and Emma is shoved inside. She lands on her hands this time and manages to jump back to her feet before Regina can take her second step inside the cell.

"I am confident you'll make yourself at home," She says, smirking in a sadistic way that makes Emma retreat further into her cell.

"But I thought…" Emma hears herself say in a wobbly voice, because fear is beginning to consume her.

Her young and innocent mind cannot comprehend why anyone could possibly want to leave her locked up in a cell meant for traitors and killers. She's not a traitor, she's good. She's always been good.

Emma can feel tears pricking in her eyes. She doesn't want to cry but she's afraid that the Queen will leave her alone in the dark, in this immense hall of empty cells.

"What?" The Evil Queen asks, "You thought I would give you the best accommodations in the castle, with a warm, cozy fire and a big bed?" She laughs, and the sound is so rich and yet so tainted with hatred that it makes Emma shiver in fear.

This woman breathes out evilness. She doesn't know how she was able to fool her before.

"Oh, dear," Regina bends down to be at Emma's eye-level. "You are as gullible as your Mother." She runs a fingertip across Emma's bottom lip, making the young girl close her eyes in fright. "You will stay here until I decide what to do with you and you should be thankful I am not using those shackles on you." When Emma opens her eyes, the ghastly digit is gone and Regina has risen to her full height once more. "Now, be a good girl and I might come back for you." The Evil Queen walks out of the cell and lifts up her hand. The iron bars slide back into place and make a metallic sound as they hit the stone wall. "Or maybe I won't."

Emma's eyes widen in horror when she realizes that Regina does in fact intend to leave her locked up down here, but the terror she feels in that moment pales in comparison to the one she experiences when The Evil Queen flicks her hand and the ball of fire disappears, leaving Emma submerged completely into darkness.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** Sorry it took so long to update, but I blame it on the length of the chapter. All the remaining ones are going to be more or less the same length. I recommend not to rush to finish the chapter since the next one is only halfway through. BTW, i'm going to be needing at least 2 betas to review the second chapter, so I will not be posting until I find them. So if anyone is willing to do some beta-ing, please PM-me.

* * *

 **Trigger Warnings: Violencea and psychological torture.**

 **If anyone is sensitive to these subjects, please do not read this chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

" **You'll learn to love your chains"**

* * *

The worst thing about the dark is that when you are exposed to it for long, you begin to lose track of the passing of time. Days and nights are the same, impossible to tell one from the other. The hours drag on endlessly, almost unbearably. Sometimes, one hour seems eternal. Others, it passes by flying.

And the sounds…

When The Evil Queen dragged her down here, Emma could have sworn there were no other prisoners locked up in the cells she saw. But she was wrong. Either they had hidden from sight or she had been so scared that she hadn't seen them the first time around.

Or maybe it wasn't humans but _creatures_. Like rats.

If there's one thing she knows for sure it's that the darkness flames the imagination and any sound she hears only fuels it like wildfire.

The first time Emma heard the screech it was long after Regina left her here. She'd been crying, even though she had fought back those tears with every ounce of her being, and the sound of her sobs was the only thing that she could hear.

Until she heard _it_.

She had choked on a sob and opened her eyes like wide discs. Even though she could not see in the darkness of her cell, Emma had sprung to her feet and run to the iron bars. She had poked her head through and trained her ears.

And then she'd heard it again: a sound so haunting that it made Emma's blood turn cold. She'd jumped back in fright and stumbled to the back of her cell. She'd not stopped retreating until her back collided with the hard wall behind her. And then she'd just sunk down to her knees, wrapped her arms around herself and cried.

That was days ago, or so Emma thought. In truth, she could not know how long it had been. She'd long stopped trying to count the passing hours. She'd figured that someone would have to come down eventually to feed her. The Evil Queen had signed a contract in which she swore she would keep her alive until she turned of age. So she could not starve her to death. And when that said someone came, Emma would try to talk some sense into them.

She's stubborn like her dad and resourceful like her mom. She's positive she'll get them to let her out.

Emma had been concocting a plan to manipulate the staff into letting her out of her cell for a very long time. She imagined it would go like this: a serving boy, preferably a girl (she got along better with girls. Boys were stupid.), would come with a silver tray with food and a drink. Emma would walk over to the bars to take the food from the tray and then she would kindly introduce herself to the maid. She would tell her that she was Snow White's daughter and that she had been unjustly thrown into this cell without any real motive, because she was not a criminal, and would ask her to please talk to the jail master, or whoever it was that held the keys and ask him to let her free. And the serving girl would have to talk to her superior, because that was how things worked, at least in her castle, and maybe she would have a chance then.

She only had to wait patiently until the moment presented itself. The plan could not fail, she would make it work. Somehow, she would get out of her cell and that gave her incentive enough to keep her hopes up for the next couple of hours.

But when the moment comes, and Emma can finally hear footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor, her heart starts to hammer in anticipation against her ribcage. With each staccato of the heels, Emma slides further away from the wall she'd been resting her head against and slowly comes to her feet.

A faint, amber light bathes the cold, lifeless stones of the corridor with its warmth. Emma blinks as a reflex, eyes narrowing into slits, as she tries to adjust to the light again. She blinks rapidly, wanting to see who it is that is coming her way but her eyes have become so used to the stark darkness of her cell that she cannot stop the light from blinding them.

The staccato sound is gone and, as Emma blinks, she can see a figure clad in black, standing before her. When she blinks again and slowly looks up, Emma's heart drops.

"No," she whispers, feeling her hopes shatter into a million pieces on the ground.

Before her stands The Evil Queen herself, dressed in a long, tight-fitting black dress. A big, heart-shaped ruby hangs from her neck in a necklace. She has matching earrings and an up hairdo that makes her look taller and more imposing than before.

Emma feels the hot sting of tears behind her eyelids again, but she blinks them away angrily, refusing to let them fall. She's so mad at herself but more so at this woman for ruining her plan, for thwarting the one chance she had at getting out of this cell.

She gnashes her teeth in frustration. She could never have foreseen The Evil Queen coming down herself instead of her servants.

"My, aren't you happy to see me, dear?" The Evil Queen asks her, pouting in mockery. She extends her hand and the door to her cell slowly slides open. The Evil Queen steps inside Emma's cell and the girl responds in turn by taking a step in the opposite direction. "And here I was thinking you'd be glad to see me."

"Why would I want to see you?" Emma spits, eyes swirling with anger. She's mad to have seen her hopes shatter in front of her. She hates Regina for tricking her, for throwing her in here and for leaving her alone in the dark when she did nothing to deserve it.

The Evil Queen smirks at her, and her dark eyes shine with something that looks a lot like malice. It makes Emma shiver, mostly because it makes her look like a snake poised to strike. Yes, Emma thinks, Regina is like a snake: calm until provoked, its bite deadly.

The woman hasn't even said a word and yet Emma knows. She just has this feeling inside, like when her maidservant's son lies to her and she just knows he's lying. Emma knows that this woman is dangerous and that she doesn't want to cross her.

Unaware of her train of thought, The Evil Queen's lips quirk up and her eyes twitch when she says, "Because I have this." Her hand flicks and in her palm appears a red apple out of a thin cloud of purple smoke.

Emma's mouth waters.

Suddenly, she's all too aware of the emptiness in her stomach. She hasn't eaten a thing in who knows how long. She's so hungry that she takes an involuntary step forward, her hand aiming for the apple, but Regina moves faster than her, hiding the precious red fruit behind her back.

"Ah, ah," She chastises, moving her index finger back and forth, as if she were talking to a toddler.

Emma stops, coming to a halt and looks up at Regina's finger with confused eyes.

"I don't think you deserve it," The Evil Queen looks away, looking slightly offended.

It's a farce, all of it, meant for Emma to throw herself at the Queen's feet and beg for one morsel of the offered food. But she's a child, innocent, hungry, oblivious to The Evil Queen's mind games.

She falls for it.

"Please," she says, slapping her palms together in a plea. "I did as you said. I've been good!"

The Evil Queen shrugs, refusing to meet the pleading girl's eyes. If she were to look, she would find a pair of green eyes brimming with tears of desperation. But she doesn't, because her game has only just begun.

"A little bird told me you've been crying."

Emma's mouth falls. How does she know?

"I…"

"Why were you crying, Emma?" The Evil Queen turns to look at her, with eyes that have turned softer. There's no edge of malicious intent in them now, and she sounds like she means it. It confuses Emma, how fast she can change from one mood to the next. "Don't you like it here?"

No. She hates it here.

And even though that's exactly what she wants to say, Emma's mind struggles to find the correct answer. Somehow, she suspects that she's not supposed to say what she really feels but if she lies, will Regina know that she did? Will those birds tell her that she lied, just like they told her that she'd been crying?

She doesn't understand what she's supposed to say. This woman is evil and Emma has the impression that the question she just asked has no correct answer. That she's meant to fail, it doesn't matter what she says in the end.

She's tired, both mentally and physically, and it's like the reply just falls from her mouth when she says: "I miss my home."

Her cheek stings when the Queen backslaps her hard across the face. It is completely unexpected, so much that Emma only knows she's been struck when she hears the slap and then feels the intense pulsing of her skin.

Emma takes a hand to her throbbing cheek and looks back at the Queen with a mixture of both shock and hurt. She's never been struck before.

" _This_ is your home." The rage that blossoms on The Evil Queen's face is colored by undiluted madness. Emma can see it, almost even smell it, and for a moment she forgets everything but the look on Regina's face. It scares her to death. "You'd do well to remember it." Regina whirls around, her dress encompassing the sharp movement, and walks out of the cell with brisk steps. She flicks her hand and the iron bars start to slide back into place. The Evil Queen lifts the red apple in her hand, showing it to Emma for one last lingering moment before turning around and disappearing again.

Emma lets herself fall to the ground. She curls into a ball, hugging her own body for comfort, willing herself not to cry, in case the Queen's birds hear her again.

* * *

After The Evil Queen's visit, Emma decides to never cry again. She's frightened and she's also very cold, because of the lack of sunlight and damp walls have the power to soak right through your skin. But, above all else, she's hungry. Famished, actually.

Emma hasn't eaten for days, or maybe an extremely long one – she still can't measure the passage of time – and she knows that the key to getting some food is to be a good girl. The Evil Queen said so. If she cries, she won't eat. So she resolves to stop doing it. Maybe that way, someone will bring her something to eat.

The Evil Queen told her that her birds had heard her crying. Emma still doesn't know where those birds hide, because she hasn't seen them anywhere, or heard them chirp.

Her mother Snow had all kinds of birds and Emma is used to their little chirping noises. So whatever the Queen's birds are, they are silent, because they never once make a sound to alert Emma of their presence.

Being locked in this cell gives her nothing but time to do absolutely nothing, except think. Occasionally, she sleeps, whenever the nightmares keep at bay. But, mostly, Emma thinks. She keeps touching her swan necklace, stroking it like a lifeline, holding onto it even when she's asleep. It's possibly the one thing that's keeping her from losing her mind: the thought of her parents, her family, and her home.

The Evil Queen told her that this is her home now and that she should better start thinking of it as such, but she can't. This place, this cell, is not and will never be her home. Her place is back with her family and her people, her Kingdom. A Kingdom that she one day will be the ruler of.

Emma can't help but feel regret over what she did. She still thinks that it was the right thing to do, but finding herself here, locked up in a cold and dark cell, all alone, that's the worst torture she could ever fathom.

Her mother used to read her stories at night while she lulled her to sleep. Some of those stories had evil characters in them and they did bad things to the good characters, always trying to keep them from being happy. Those things, those bad deeds that Emma used to deem unthinkable, now seem like child's play to her. Even the darkest deed pales in comparison to _reality_.

Her reality.

Emma sighs. She's sitting on her bed and her back is bothering her again. She's not used to sleeping in beds made of concrete. In her palace she had a bed thrice bigger than her size and the mattress was as soft as a newborn's skin.

Having to lie down on something as hard as concrete makes her body ache. She can't see her body in the dark, but sometimes Emma touches the parts of her skin where it hurts, and finds it tender under her fingertips. It reminds her of how bruises used to feel like when she'd fall and accidentally injure herself.

Carefully, she comes to her feet and rubs her palms on her backside, trying to ease the pain a little bit. It doesn't help much, but at least it soothes her nerves; makes her feel like she's doing something, that there is something that she actually _can_ do.

Emma walks around the cell a little bit, traipsing slowly, minding her steps. She's run into the walls with her face quite a few times to have gained a sense about how big the cell is. So she keeps her hands in front and walks around slowly, trying to get a feel of where she is before taking the actual step.

Her mind reels, as always. Emma thinks it's the only part of her that actually works anymore. The rest of her body feels subdued, as if she's lost a fight and is feeling the weight of defeat wearing her down. But not her mind. Her mind is as active as ever.

More often than not, Emma thinks about getting out of the cell. She comes up with such elaborate plans for escape that her dad would deem them worthy of a genius. But Emma knows that, no matter how elaborate her plans are, she has no real chance of getting past those iron bars.

For starters she would need something to open the door and, even if she came across such an object, she would still have to make her way out of the castle. Maybe she could make it to the end of the corridor but then it would be over for her, simply because she doesn't know what waits outside of the corridor. She hasn't laid eyes past it. How could she escape the unknown?

She can't. Not like this, anyway.

Emma will have to wait, hope and pray to get out of the cell and be able to get a look at what lies past these iron bars that keep her prisoner inside. If only she can manage to do that then, and only then, she stands a chance at escaping. And escaping this place is all she desires.

So she waits, and waits, until eventually someone comes for her.

This time is not The Evil Queen, it's one of her guards. He's tall and broad-shouldered, clad in black and silvery armor, face hidden behind a mask.

Emma can only make out his eyes: dark, like the rest of him. It seems that, in here, everything is dark.

Except for her, with her beautiful white dress and shoes.

Regina's guard opens the door to Emma's cell and commands a low, "Out."

Emma looks at him for a minute, hugging her arms around herself, as she weighs her options. She has a bad feeling, a really bad one. Like something terribly bad awaits her if she leaves the darkness of her cell. She shifts anxiously on her feet and her bottom lip trembles slightly.

"I said out!" The guard growls, having lost his patience already. He bursts into the cell and grips Emma by the upper-arm. He digs his nails into her skin, making her squirm in his grasp, trying to break free. The guard exerts more pressure on his hold on her to keep her still, and then he retrieves a pair of shackles from his belt and holds them before Emma's frightened eyes. "Stay still or I will strike you." Emma is tempted to struggle against his hold but she refrains at the last moment, and allows him to put the restraints on her wrists. She's sure this guard won't hesitate to hit her and she doesn't want to give him any reasons to.

When the shackles are secured around her wrists, he pushes her out of the cell with a hard shove. "You will learn to do as you are ordered." Emma trips with her feet but manages to cushion the fall with her hands, and is able to not hurt herself too much, although the material of the shackles buries itself a little in Emma's skin when she hits the ground.

Behind her, the guard closes the cell and, before Emma can even turn to look at him, he is hauling her to her feet and forcing her to move again.

"Where are you taking me?" Emma asks defiantly, as she tries to match the guard's long strides with her short legs.

"The Queen has requested your presence."

* * *

As they move about the different sets of stairs and castle halls, Emma tries to build a map in her head, one that she will later try to reproduce in order to escape.

She doesn't know where she's being taken to; only that The Evil Queen will be there, and she's terrified of what it may be the purpose of the encounter. Emma knows that, whatever the Queen's reasons are to see her, they can't be good.

The guard doesn't let go of her arm until they come across a big, arched oak double-door. Only then, he turns to her. He grabs both her wrists and starts to fumble with the shackles.

He unlocks the restraints and hangs them back on his belt, all the while keeping a firm – almost bruising – hold on Emma's wrists. "If you try anything, you'll be meeting an untimely death." He threatens in a low, menacing voice.

Emma looks straight into his dark eyes when she says, "You can't kill me."

"Are you willing to bet your life on that?" The guard spits out, fury swirling in his eyes. He tightens his hold on Emma's wrists, until it feels like he's going to crush her bones with the force he's applying to the grip.

Emma hisses in pain but doesn't utter a word.

The double doors open for them from the inside, as if someone already knew they were standing on the other side.

The guard mistakes her silence for surrendering, and smugly says, "That's what I thought. Now walk."

The moment both doors hit the walls with a loud _thud_ , the guard pushes Emma forward by the shoulder, and the young girl stumbles clumsily, somehow managing not to fall down.

And just like the guard said, Regina is waiting for her.

The Evil Queen is sitting on her throne, one leg crossed over the other, lean arms resting at her sides, her black mane framing her face and falling over her shoulders in loose curls. She doesn't wear a crown, but it's not like she needs to. Regina is the living figure of power and cruelty.

As the guard forces her to walk further into the Throne Room, Emma keeps her eyes trained on a pair of sinister dark ones. She's been told not to ever look down, so even though the Queen's eyes feel like they are burning a hole right through her with the intensity of her gaze, Emma keeps her head held high and continues walking, until the guard grips her arm firmly, finally making her come to a stop.

She's but a few steps away from the throne and now she can see that the Queen is eyeing her like a predator would its prey and that in her lips, a smug smile is starting to appear.

Regina looks like she's enjoying Emma's blatant defiance, but there is also something about her expression that screams not to be pushed too further. Maybe it's the way she's sitting on the throne, seemingly in a relaxed position but ready to strike, should she need to.

And the same analogy she'd made before comes to Emma's mind. The Evil Queen is like a snake, calm until provoked.

Regina lets their little staring game carry on for a few more moments, rewarding the young girl with a quirked smile for her audacity, and then she pushes herself up with her hands, averting her eyes from Emma's, and addressing the rest of the people present inside the room.

"My dear subjects," She starts, voice cold as ice.

Emma takes a quick look around, finally noticing the dozens of people gathered inside the Throne Room. She wonders how she didn't see them before, but her musings are stopped short when the Queen points to her and says, "May I introduce to you Princess Emma, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming."

Emma sighs internally, grateful for Regina's mistake. Now these people are aware of who she is and they will rise to help her. She looks around, trying to spot some friendly faces amongst the crowd, but she frowns when she realizes that no one is actually looking at her. All pairs of eyes are obediently trained on the Queen.

Her heart tugs in her chest. Why doesn't anyone say anything? Why don't they intervene in her favor? Surely these people know who her parents are. How can they allow The Evil Queen to keep her here now that they _know_ she's away from her home?

Emma opens her mouth, ready to protest, but bites back her own words when Regina speaks again.

"She will stay under my custody until she comes of age," The Evil Queen explains in a sickly sweet voice, sweeping her eyes over from one face to the next. "This girl is my guest of honor and her safety lies solely on my hands. Therefore, I have to make sure that no harm will come to her as long as she stays under my protection, which is why I summoned all of you here, to inform you of the rules regarding the well-being of Princess Emma."

Emma pales at that.

 _Rules_?

She sweeps her eyes across the people in the crowd. She notices that there are guards and castle servants alike, all gathered around in stoic silence, awaiting the impending rules that The Evil Queen is about to impart over them.

Regina continues, "The first rule is that no one, under any circumstances, will be allowed to directly talk to the Princess, aside from myself."

Emma's heart leaps in her chest. She can literally feel her skin turning cold as the Queen's words replay on her mind.

No one will be able to talk to her.

 _No one_.

"The second rule is that no one is allowed to look straight into this girl's eyes without my permission."

The crowd takes the Queen's rules in silence. No one dares question them; no one dares speak in Emma's favor. Every single one of those people tacitly agree with the restrictions Regina is making without so much as a mouthed protest.

Emma can't understand why these people won't stand up for themselves. It is painfully clear that the Queen does not intend anything good with these rules. A blind man could see that.

Emma doesn't know the purpose behind The Evil Queen's drastic rules is, but she has a general feeling that by forbidding everyone to either look or talk to her, Regina is ensuring that Emma will not gain any allies during her stay. And what is worse, she doesn't even need to threaten them. Regina has these people under such a grip of fear that she can mask the deception with well-meaning pretenses and they will accept them without any kind of protest. Because they all know beforehand what will happen to them if they disobey their Queen.

Emma swallows her fear and unconsciously rubs a sore wrist with her hand. It dawns on her that no one is going to come to her rescue. These people are so afraid of The Evil Queen that they'd rather look away whilst she plays her dark games with an innocent girl right under their noses.

Her green eyes dart back to the Queen, who is lifting a hand and beckoning the people to dissipate. Apparently, she's said all she had to say.

The crowd of people begins to vacate the room in silence, all lined up and almost in perfect synchronicity.

It wouldn't come as a shock for Emma to learn that the Queen trained her subjects to walk in a straight line as they clear a room. If Regina can go as far as to order so many people to neither talk or look at her in the eye, surely the rest was as easy as breathing for her.

The servants and the rest of the house staff return to their chores. Once the room is cleared and everyone has left, Regina turns to look at Emma. Her expression has changed drastically. The mask of fake pleasantries has fallen. Now, Emma is staring straight into the eyes of the beast.

The Evil Queen smirks at her, and the way her lips curl up make her seem all the more dangerous. It's the way her whole face lights up in malice and the glint in her dark eyes that seem to only focus on Emma. She's poised to strike, still and unmoving, and yet waiting; just waiting for the attack.

Emma knows; she knows because her heart begins to beat erratically in her chest. She knows because her skin crawls and a shiver runs up her spine. One single move and the snake will strike her down.

The young girl stays in eerie silence, not daring to move a muscle, terrified of the Queen leaping at her, and of the anger she sees bubbling on the surface of those dark eyes. She can practically feel it, emanating from the Queen's body in waves. It makes the atmosphere around them tense up.

"You're wearing white," Regina says, in a low, menacing voice.

The unexpected breaking of the silence, added to the puzzling sentence, makes Emma open and close her mouth a few times, uncertain about what to say.

Emma looks down at her white dress. It's dirty and torn up in some places. It barely resembles the pristine white dress that her mother had put on her so many days ago. "It's the only thing I have," she answers, frowning at the way her voice wobbles at the thought of her mother.

The Evil Queen slowly walks over to where she's standing, and the way her dress moves with every step she takes makes her seem like she's gliding over the floor, rather than walking.

Emma's shoulders tense up when the Queen circles around her. She can feel Regina's eyes on her, intense, burning on her skin. It makes her feel cold inside, although her skin may be on fire with the intensity of her gaze. She doesn't move and it's not like she could have, even if she'd wanted to. Her legs seem rooted to the ground below, like sinking stones on the sea.

"I've been a bad host," Regina whispers in Emma's ear, making the girl shiver involuntarily.

Emma can feel her stone-like legs tremble under her and, for a moment, she's worried she might topple to the ground.

"I should provide you with clothes worthy of your station, not like these…" The Evil Queen takes a hold of her white dress and lifts it up to examine it closely, "filthy rags." She finishes, letting go of the fabric in her hand with a disgusting look on her face. "Follow me, _Princess_."

The Evil Queen brushes past her and the gust of air she evokes when she abruptly moves causes Emma's blonde locks to tousle up.

The girl waits for a moment before turning on her heels and following after the Queen.

* * *

"These are going to be your chambers from now on," Regina flicks her wrist and the red velvet curtains covering the two massive windows on the room open up, letting light seep in. "We can't have you sleeping on a cold, damp cell for much longer, now can we?" she asks in that sweet sickly voice of hers.

Emma doesn't reply. She knows what a rhetorical question sounds like. Instead, she takes one tentative step further inside the room and takes it in with solemnity.

These are royal chambers, she can tell. They don't belong to any servant, and they are certainly not equipped to be of use to servants either. No. This is a beautiful room. It has little to no furniture inside, but all the essentials are there: a massive, queen-sized bed with a canopy, one night table at each side of the bed, two impressive tall windows with equally long curtains, a fireplace with some logs inside, a comfortable looking chair by its side and, against the opposite wall, a double-door wardrobe.

Emma feels the eyes of The Evil Queen watching her from out of the corner of her eye. She's intrigued as to why the Queen would show her kindness now; when she just made sure that Emma knew she's nothing more than a prisoner to her. Prisoners don't spend their days in pretty chambers; they spend them on cold, damp cells; like the one Emma was thrown into during those endless days.

She means to ask her why she's doing this for her, but the words won't come out of her mouth. She's afraid that, if she speaks, she might ruin this nice gesture and the Queen will send her back to her cell. So Emma keeps quiet, but allows her eyes to venture towards a pair of dark, glinting ones that are still watching her with predatory gleefulness.

"You haven't seen the best of it yet." The Evil Queen says, and it shows how much attention she'd been paying to Emma as she took in her new chambers. She points to the double-door wardrobe that lies against the wall past her, and beckons: "Go on."

Emma bites her bottom lip for a minute. She stares at the wardrobe, suddenly afraid of what could hide behind those big, oak doors. Her green eyes flicker over to Regina's, who is eyeing her with unmasked expectancy, and then they travel back to the wardrobe. She takes one small step in its direction, feeling her heart beat faster.

Looking at the massive object, Emma realizes what a pivotal turn her life has taken if she now finds herself terrified at the prospect of opening a mere wardrobe.

As she walks past The Evil Queen, Emma resolves that she will not let fear get a grip on her as it does on Regina's servants. This woman has the ability to reduce people to frightened whelps. Well, that will not be the case for her. Her mother has always told her that fear paralyzes, that it can't be outrun. Fear has to be faced. And that's what she's doing, facing her fear.

With slightly trembling hands, Emma grips the knobs of the wardrobe and pulls it open, standing in the middle of both doors as she comes face to face with… _dresses_.

A dozen of them, all white.

Emma turns around, her mouth ajar. Her green eyes find those mischievous dark ones staring back at her. It occurs to her that this is a bad joke, a really bad one. But, then again, she doesn't think of The Evil Queen as much of a joker. She wants to know the meaning of this, to ask why the sudden kindness, the reason behind this gift – if a dozen of pristine white dresses can be referred to as such – but the only thing that falls from her mouth is a barely audible: "why?"

Regina eyes her like she's asked the most outrageous thing in the world, and when she answers, she shows the extent of her contempt. "Well, isn't it obvious?" She asks, in a high-pitched and very annoyed voice, like she doesn't have time to discuss the weather with mere peasants. "You are the spawn of Snow White, dear, what else could you be expected to wear?"

Emma frowns at that. She doesn't understand the Queen's words, or the relation between being her mother's daughter and the white dresses, but she doesn't dare ask anything else. The Evil Queen looks irate all of a sudden and Emma feels the same way she didn't want to feel earlier: like she just popped a very colorful balloon in front of her face.

As she looks into a pair of dark eyes swirling with fury, Emma is afraid that Regina will revoke on her good will and send her back into the dark cell for being an ungrateful child. And it's precisely that thought which prompts her to say: "I love them. Thank you." The words leave her mouth in a rush, betraying the sudden desperation she feels boiling inside of her.

As soon as she utters them, her words hang heavily on the air, adopting a weight of their own and as Emma looks into Regina's eyes, she fears that she's said the wrong thing yet again. But then The Evil Queen's expression changes before her. Dark, almost pitch black eyes soften somewhat, and perfectly plump red lips turn up into half a smile.

In that moment, when she realizes that for the first time in her five years to come she has avoided the upcoming raging storm, Emma's whole body sags, and she feels as if a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders. It's an inexplicable feeling, but one that she will soon learn to love, often meaning she dodged a nasty ball.

"I'm happy to hear that, dear." The Evil Queen says, and just for a fraction of a second, Emma finds herself mirroring back the small smile adorning the woman's features. "Because you'll be wearing them everywhere you go. I don't want to see you in anything but white, _snow_ white." The Queen's smile turns into an evil grin, her eyes glinting with infinite satisfaction.

Emma gulps, feeling the air cracking with tension. She's terrified of this woman, of the way her mood changes from one emotion to the polar opposite. She's unpredictable and deadly dangerous.

Anxious and desiring nothing but to be free of the peril this woman represents by just breathing near her, Emma blurts out, "Yes, Regina."

 _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong_.

She learns that lesson when The Evil Queen backhands her hard across the face.

"I'm your _Queen_ , you disrespectful little brat, and you will refer to me as such!" Regina yells at her, towering over her, looking every bit the imposing woman that she is.

Emma closes her eyes, feeling The Evil Queen's hot breath hitting her face in paused gulps of air. She doesn't need open her eyes to know that Regina's chest is heaving with unrestrained anger. She can feel it, with the way their bodies are almost pressed up against one another.

She doesn't utter a word. She just nods once and hopes with all that she is that it'll be enough to placate The Queen's anger.

"I expect you to attend dinner tonight."

And, with that, she's gone.

Emma opens her eyes after a full minute has passed and finds her private chambers empty again. Only then she feels the pulsing of her cheek and takes a hand to her skin, where she was struck. The moment she touches the skin she realizes it feels hot to the touch, hotter than normal. She rubs it a few times, trying to soothe the stinging ache, but it does little to help with the pain.

Unaware of the trembling of her limbs or the tears forming behind her lids, Emma forces herself to tear away her gaze from the spot where Regina had been standing mere moments ago. She shakes her head to try and regain some clarity of mind and lets out a shaky breath.

When she feels like she has a better grip on her emotions, Emma runs over to the door. Her hand grasps the door knob and she pushes with as much force as she can, trying to open it. As expected, the door doesn't budge, but Emma keeps trying. She slams her small body into the door, once, then twice, then thrice. But it's locked from the outside.

The hard wood creaks with the violent treatment it's receiving. Emma's shoulder begins to throb painfully but she pays it no mind, she keeps taking a few steps back and then running back at the door, hitting the wood with brute force time and again. She only stops when her shoulder makes a popping sound and a shooting pain assaults her. For a moment she fears she may have dislocated it, like she did once when she was younger, but when she moves her arm, trying it, she realizes that she did injure it but did not dislocate it.

A sob escapes her mouth then and Emma slides down to the floor, giving in to the anguish she feels. The tears behind her lids finally spring from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks like an unstoppable force of nature. And she cries, and cries, sometimes screaming until her lungs burn and she has to breathe. Emma curls up into a tiny ball, hugging her knees close to her chest. She cries, and cries, until darkness swallows her whole.

* * *

"Wake up, child!"

Emma hears a gruff voice from some place distant but she's too tired to open her eyes. She has fallen prey to a dreamless sleep – the first in a long while – and she feels like she's finally getting some rest. It hasn't been nearly enough for her battered body to recover. She wants to stay where she is, buried under layers of heavy sleep, not dreaming, just resting.

But the voice calls her again, this time more urgently. "Wake up!"

The calls are soon followed by hard tugs on her arm and when she feels someone's hands wrapping around her shoulders and shaking her, Emma blinks herself awake. She immediately notices there is someone kneeling in front of her: a woman, a petite, plump, old woman who is wearing a long sleeved black dress with a white apron on top of it and a white cap on her head.

"Who…?" Emma asks in a raspy voice. She doesn't manage to hide her confusion upon seeing another person crouching before her. She looks around, trying to get a hold on reality since her mind insists on staying on its blurry dream-like state. She notices that she's lying on the ground, on the space between the door and the large bed. She must have fallen asleep at some point without noticing. Then her attention goes back to the unknown woman. "Who are you?" She asks and this time her voice is back to its normal tone, although her confusion is still evident.

The woman looks at her for a long moment and Emma wonders if she's going to get an answer at all. Just when she's about to give up on it, the woman sighs tiredly and says, "I shouldn't be tawkin' to you, child." Emma is painfully reminded of the Queen's number one rule and she drops her head in shame. She should have remembered the rules. "But you sure gave me quite some trouble to wake you up." Hearing the woman talking to her again makes Emma's head snap up to look at the old woman's face. She notices that it is covered in wrinkles but that her pale blue eyes seem warm enough to be trusting.

"I don't understand." Emma whispers.

And she doesn't. The woman said so herself: she isn't supposed to be talking to her. Those are the Queen's rules.

The woman gives her a sad smile that barely reaches her eyes and then extends out a hand for Emma to take. Emma accepts the offered hand hesitantly and then the woman helps her to her feet.

"You must 'urry, child." The woman turns on her heels and walks over to the wardrobe, opening it up and fishing for one of the white dresses that the Queen had given her to wear. She seems to decide on one and takes it off of the hanger, walking over to the bed and laying the dress over it. "The Queen is expecting you for dinner."

Emma slowly walks around the bed to stand beside the old woman. She takes one long, lasting look at the white dress that is spread out for her. It's simple and plain, yet beautiful. Her slender fingertips trace the fabric of the dress, feeling the softness under her skin.

"What's your name?" Emma asks in a small voice, chancing a quick look at the old woman. She isn't sure if the woman is going to answer her this time. She feels that maybe her luck has already run out.

The old woman turns her head to glance at her, but Emma's eyes are back at staring to the white dress again. However, the young girl can still feel the woman's eyes on her. She notices just then that, even though being observed is never a comfortable feeling, it's not as unsettling as it was when it was The Evil Queen who was doing it.

The woman clicks her tongue and shakes her head in disbelief. "My name is Alma."

Emma doesn't know why but hearing the woman's name makes her smile brightly at her, forgetting even if just for a tiny second, her current predicament. "I'm Emma." She says merrily.

"I know ezzackly who you are, child." Alma says in a hushed whisper that is so full of fear and caution that it makes Emma's heart skip a beat. "Tha's why we must never talk agin." She bends over and picks up the dress from the bed. Alma hands the dress over to Emma, who takes it hesitantly. "Get dressed at once."

"But why?" She asks, once more struggling to hide the confusion from her voice. "We were just talking." She means to say that Alma already broke the Queen's rules, so why would she stop talking to her now? But she chooses to leave that part out. She doesn't want to give Alma more reasons not to talk to her.

Alma bends over to be at Emma's eye-level and then she whispers, "'cause the Queen has eyes everywhere."

Emma's mouth parts and she looks around the room, searching for the Queen's birds, but there's no one here, except for them.

"Now get dressed, please." Alma pleads and Emma feels her resolve shattering. "The two guards posted at the door outside are gonna lead you to the Queen once yer decent."

Emma nods and watches as Alma purses her lips into a thin line and gives her a sad smile. Then, she walks past her and leaves the room, closing the door with a barely audible _click_ behind her.

Emma remains rooted to the ground, holding the white dress loosely against her chest, as she stares blankly at the wall in front of her. Her mind is a swirling pool of thoughts, all of them revolving around the Queen and Alma, her maidservant.

Alma told her that the Queen is expecting her to dine with her. She's probably running late for that, since she loaded her maidservant with questions, but she found that she could not help herself. There are so many things she wishes she had an answer for but, above all, her heart yearns for some sort of solace, some form of comfort, now that she'll be staying in this gloomy and dark castle for good.

Emma is feeling nostalgic and rather small, now that she's been taken away from the one place she truly belonged to and robbed of the family that brought her into this world. Her head screams that she's an orphan now, much like many village boys and girls that she's met over the years. An orphan and a homeless one as well, because even though she does have a roof over her head, The Evil Queen has made it quite clear that this will not be a vacation for her. She will not be allowed to have any friends or barely any human contact at all, basically.

No friends, no family, no home.

As she clutches the white dress tighter in her hand, Emma realizes that she's completely alone, and that she will continue to be for the five years that the treaty specifies, unless her family comes to her rescue before it is due. That thought, of her father riding along with her mother's army to save her, is the one sliver of hope Emma chooses to cling to now that she knows she's lost everything she had that was rightfully hers.

Emma takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She can't dwell on her loses anymore. If she doesn't come out of her chambers soon, she is sure that those two guards will come barreling in and drag her all the way down to the dining room. So she starts undressing, removing each piece of clothing with deliberate care.

As she strips herself bare, Emma realizes that these clothes – however dirty they are now – are all she has left from her home and her Kingdom; these clothes and the swan necklace that her mother Snow gave her, that is. She folds them carefully and sets them down on the bed, as if they were worth a million gold pieces each, because to her they are, and then she puts on the simple white dress that the Queen had provided for her.

The dress fits her just right, as if it was especially made for her, and that surprises her. She didn't expect the dress to be her size, let alone be a pretty one. She thought that maybe The Evil Queen would dress her in rags, just to humiliate her.

Emma gazes down to take a look at the dress. She only whishes she had a mirror here so that she could look at herself better. Emma searches around the room with her eyes and smiles in triumph when her eyes land on a small hand held mirror, framed in silver and with a sapphire gem on the top, laying over the night table on the right side of the bed. She walks over to it and picks up the mirror in her hand.

Emma lets out a shocked breath when her own reflection stares back at her. She takes her free hand to her parting lips and then runs the tips of her fingers across her face, tracing the shape of her lips, the swollen bruise in her cheek, and the contour of her tired green eyes. She barely recognizes herself in the mirror. She's dirty and she's wearing a worn out expression that she's never seen on her face before, not even after a full afternoon playing outside with Roderick, the stable boy. Emma bites her lower lip, feeling it tremble. She wills herself not to cry again. Alma told her she had to look decent and, now that she can see herself on the mirror, she dares say she is not even close to it. If she cries her eyes will get puffy and red, and that will only make it worse.

Emma valiantly blinks the forming tears away and takes a steadying breath to calm down. When she thinks she's got a grip on herself again, she sets the mirror back on the night table and slowly makes her way to the door. She stops in front of it and rests her forehead against the wood. It feels cool to the touch, but above all, it feels solid and unmoving. She's grateful for that since she needs to feel steady right now. Her whole world feels like it's spinning out of control, and fast.

Emma pushes that thought away. This is not the time to feel bad about her future. She has to be brave and face the outcome of her decision. She did this for her people, for her family. She has to be strong for them.

Taking one last breath, Emma yanks the door open and comes face to face with the two guards waiting for her.

"I'm ready." She informs them, and the guards move to stand at her flanks, ready to take her to the presence of their Queen.

* * *

As soon as the guards lead her into the dining room, Emma's eyes land on the Queen's. She's sitting alone at the far end of an exceedingly long and narrow wooden table, and although there is no one there but the two of them, there is food enough to feed an entire village. It's clearly a display of wealth and power, although to Emma it's a disgusting sight. To think that all of this food could feed so many hungry mouths and yet it'll probably go to waste makes her heart clench in her chest, and she feels a rush of anger towards this Queen.

"Finally you decided to grace us with your presence." The Evil Queen snaps, breaking the eerie silence of the room.

She doesn't even raise her eyes to look at her, but Emma finds that she much prefers it that way. She doesn't need to look into the Queen's eyes to feel the ice emanating from her, the same ice that is surrounding the Dining Room with its frozen kiss.

Emma hugs herself with her arms, rubbing her own skin gently, trying to produce some warmth from the friction. But it's futile. She's been but a minute in the company of this woman, and Emma is already freezing to the bone.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Emma apologizes. She even surprises herself with the honesty in her words. She does feel a bit sorry for being late, although it may be for all the wrong reasons. The moment she stepped into the Dining Room and saw the Queen all alone at the far end of a table that could easily host thirty more dinner guests she felt sad for her. "It won't happen again."

"See to it that it doesn't." Regina finally looks up from her empty plate to look at Emma in the eyes.

The young girl gapes at the intensity of the Queen's gaze. She looks furious, but there's also a tinge of haunting sadness in her dark eyes that Emma doesn't think she'd noticed there before.

"It won't, My Queen."

The moment Emma's words leave her mouth, she feels as though she's said the wrong thing once more. It wouldn't surprise her, with the streak of luck she's been having lately.

Regina looks as though she's been rendered mute for a second; even if that's only Emma's impression – she doubts that a woman as imposing as her could ever be caught off guard by two simple words. But then Regina's curious expression turns into a self-satisfied smirk and the atmosphere surrounding them changes again.

"Come closer, dear." The Evil Queen beckons, sounding kind all of a sudden.

Emma finds that she doesn't get as surprised as she did before with the Queen's sudden mood changes. By now she's learnt that the woman can go from tender to ruthless in the span of a moment, so she must tread carefully if she doesn't want to provoke her.

Her feet move towards the end of the table, where The Evil Queen is sitting, with her back resting comfortably against the back of the high chair, looking as smug as she's ever seen her. She notices that the closer she actually gets to the frightening Queen, the shorter her steps become. But eventually, Emma reaches Regina's side and she comes face to face with her captor.

Regina bores her eyes intently into hers, giving her a lopsided smirk that makes Emma lower her eyes to the empty plate in front of the Queen. The woman lets out a chuckle and that makes Emma lift her head back up to gaze into her mirthful dark eyes.

"I want some of that roasted swan," The Evil Queen says, drawling the words if only to show the obvious pleasure she's getting from this.

When Emma's eyes widen in confusion, Regina pushes her empty silver plate with one of her hands closer to the girl and motions with her eyes towards the edible sculpture of a roasted swan that sits on a big, oval plate in the middle of the table.

Emma turns her head over her shoulder to follow The Evil Queen's line of sight and finally makes sense of the woman's words. It dawns on her that when Regina said she expected her for dinner she didn't mean as a dining guest; she meant as her servant.

Slowly, Emma picks up the Queen's plate in her hands and walks over to the roasted swan, slicing a piece of the meat with a carving knife she finds laying at the side of the dish, and serving it on the Queen's plate.

"Hurry up, child." The Evil Queen growls impatiently. "I don't have forever."

Emma sets the carving knife down on the table and picks up the silver plate in both her hands. She carries the dish with careful steps. She's slightly nervous that she might drop the plate, so her steps are slower than the Queen has patience to endure, apparently.

"Dear Lord, you are as inept as your mother."

Emma's hands shake violently at the mention of her mother and the insult to her persona, and the silver plate trembles as she sets it down in front of The Evil Queen. The roasted swan sways from one side of the plate to the other, threatening to roll to the floor, but at the last minute Emma manages to set it down without losing a single piece of meat from the plate.

Then, The Queen holds out her cup and orders to bring her some wine.

Grateful for the chance to walk away from the woman, even if just for a short moment, Emma walks over to the side table to fetch the pitcher of wine. As she pours some of the crimson liquid into the silver cup, Emma lets out a long shuddering breath. That insult to her mother had touched her deeply. She can handle the Queen's insulting words if they are directed to her, but when her insults are for her family… well, she cannot accept that. In fact, Emma doesn't even know how she managed to stay quiet during that moment.

Turning around, Emma walks back over to the far end of the table and hands Regina back her cup, now filled with wine to the brim.

"Thank you, dear." The Queen says in that sickly sweet voice that she uses sometimes to feign kindness towards other people. "I'll call you if I need anything else." She flicks her wrist dismissively and Emma moves to stand against the wall, near the wine table. She rests her back against the cool surface of the stone wall, awaiting her next orders.

Emma's green eyes drop down to her two feet, as she brushes the tip of her shoe across a particularly protruding stone on the floor. She's distracted, playing with her foot and the stone floor, so she is startled when The Evil Queen's voice breaks the heavy silence of the room.

"I thought it would please me," She starts, stabbing a piece of roasted swan with her fork, "seeing you dressed in nothing but white." Emma watches her take the morsel of food into her mouth. "Instead I find it curiously disturbing." The Queen's dark eyes snap up to meet hers, and Emma gulps at the sudden intensity of the woman's gaze. "It's like having your obnoxious mother running around my castle all over again." Regina spits venomously, clenching her teeth in anger as she holds the fork in her hand in an iron grip. " _Snow White_." The grip on the fork tightens and Emma's eyes widen as it starts to bend backwards with the force applied to it. "Bandit, murderer, traitor." The Evil Queen drawls spitefully, her gaze lost in the distance, her mind travelling back in time.

Emma pushes herself off the wall and takes a step forward, teeth clenched and her hands balled into fists. No one will talk about her mother like that and get away with it.

"Take it back," Emma's voice comes too soft to snap the Queen out of her self induced haze, so she repeats it again, this time louder, "Take. It. Back."

The Evil Queen's gaze slowly sweeps over to hers and her steely dark eyes lock with a pair of angry green ones. The woman's face is a mask of disbelief that is slowly turning into furious contempt before Emma's eyes.

The little girl should probably know that it's time to back off, but the Charming blood in her veins, her pride, her stubbornness, will not let her. Instead, she straightens up, squaring her shoulders and puffing out her chin in defiance to a Queen that is quietly morphing into the figure of the snake that Emma associates her with.

Regina uses her hands to push herself up in the chair, slowly coming to her full height. She doesn't take her eyes off Emma's, nor does she blink when she asks, "What did you say?"

Emma watches The Evil Queen take a step forward, the slender fingers of her left hand tracing a straight path on the table as she moves.

As the woman walks up to her, Emma can see the transformation taking place before her. She's suddenly frozen in the spot, unable to even reply to this creature morphing in front of her eyes. The snake, the snake is about to strike.

But it's too late to back down now. It's too late, she knows it.

"I said," Emma gasps out, eyes locked on The Evil Queen's, who is mere steps away from her, drawing nearer with every breath. "Take it back."

The Evil Queen lifts her hand and squeezes the air with undiluted anger. Her eyes ablaze and her mouth in a snarl, she crumples the air, as if she were holding a scrap of paper in her hand.

Emma doesn't have time to wonder what it is that she's witnessing, because before her mind can process the image before her, she feels her neck constricting and the air dimming out from her lungs. Her hands fly to her neck and she dabs pointlessly at the invisible force chocking the life out of her.

"Wha-?" She chokes out, her nails scratching her own skin in desperation.

Her brain screams, _'What are you doing?'_ but the words won't come out. Her knees give out from under her and Emma hits the ground a second later. She grips her throat with frantic desperation. She gasps, trying to take in big gulps of air to appease the burning need for oxygen in her system. But it's futile. She can't breathe.

Emma's eyes find Regina's and she finally understands. The Evil Queen is strangling her; she's killing her for her insolence.

 _But she can't._

 _The treaty._

Emma's eyes water and tears roll down her cheeks as her vision starts to blur and the woman before her begins to disappear behind black blotches.

 _Please,_ her mind screams in her last desperate attempt at making the irate woman stop.

 _The peace treaty …_

Emma gasps again, her head hitting the floor as her right hand shoots out to The Evil Queen's feet. She's dying. She can feel it.

 _The peace.._.

* * *

Emma wakes up with a start. Her hands immediately go back to her throat as she takes in big gulps of air, trying to reassure herself that she is, in fact, still breathing and pretty much alive.

She rolls over to her side, rubbing her now extremely sore throat with slightly trembling hands. Hot tears splash on her palms. She was convinced she was going to die. In that moment, when all she could see where The Evil Queen's heels and her lungs burned in excruciating pain, Emma was sure that she was going to die.

She felt small, insignificant. As if her life was no longer hers anymore. She was literally staring up at the woman who was choking the life out of her, and she was nothing more than a filthy rag that lay at her feet. In that moment, Emma was not Snow White's daughter, she was not a princess. She was barely a human at all.

As the life ran out of her lungs, Emma realized that here her life wasn't hers anymore. She belongs to The Evil Queen and she is hers to do away with as she pleases. She will be kept around as long as it suits her captor but, the moment she crosses her, the moment she does something that does not meet the woman's approval, she'll be brutally punished, maybe even killed for it. And the only thing that can save her, the peace treaty that both The Evil Queen and her mother Snow signed; the one thing she thought could stand between The Evil Queen's wrath and her, has just been proven worthless. The woman didn't show the slight care about the treaty she signed with her own hand. That means that this woman can and _will_ kill her, if she so wishes it, and nothing in the world will ever stop her.

Letting out a long, shuddering breath, Emma pushes herself into a sitting position. She's back in the cell again.

Darkness swallows the place like the pit of an abyss, accentuating the feeling of emptiness and despair. This place, this cell, stings of desperation, of the countless of innocent souls that must have lived out their days trapped here, away from the light and warmth of the sun.

Emma can practically smell their anxiety to get out, to be free again. She can also smell death: a heavy, pregnant atmosphere and the scent of rotten flesh that clings to the walls of her cell. That's what death feels like down here. But Emma refuses to let this feeling take hold of her mind. She cannot let the dead sink her down along with them.

Suddenly, the air around her changes; It gets charged with the tell-tale buzzing of magic that Emma is slowly learning to recognize.

The lights of the torches outside her cell come to life, illuminating the corridor and a large part of Emma's cell with their amber light. The young girl covers her eyes with her arm, as a knee-jerk reaction to it. She blinks furiously, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the light streaming from the corridor as fast as she can, but before she can open them again and turn around to get a look at what is going on, a cloud of purple smoke appears just outside her cell bars.

The cloud dissipates as fast as it formed, revealing the smirking form of The Evil Queen.

"Hello, dear." The woman greets with a pleased smile and equally mirthful eyes.

Emma bolts to her feet the moment that sickly sweet voice reaches her ears. Even though her eyes are once again open, she has to narrow them in order to be able to see.

The Evil Queen moves closer to her cell bars, tracing the tips of her fingers across the iron bars as if they were silk, all the while piercing her glinting dark eyes into Emma's green ones.

"I came to pay you a visit," She informs her. "You had me so worried when you passed out from the lack of air." She adds, taking a hand to her chest and bending over just slightly. She could pass as a worried mother if only she did not sound so incredibly false. It's painfully obvious she does not mean what she says and it only makes Emma want to snort in reply, but she refrains, knowing that it would probably only earn her another one of The Evil Queen's chocking games. "How are you faring, my dear child?"

Emma clears her throat to speak and even that mild motion makes her hurt. She takes one hand to her neck when she rasps out, "Fine."

The Evil Queen eyes her suspiciously for a second, but then she smiles and says, "I do hope you know why you're here." She points around to the cell, and when Emma stares back at her in silence, she adds, "Why, you surprise me, dear." She feigns shock. "You stood up for a traitor and a murderer." She explains, her dark eyes glinting maliciously under the amber light of the torches. She fixes her gaze on Emma, assessing her. She's clearly waiting for the girl to step on the stick again.

Emma takes in The Evil Queen's words silently this time. She knows the woman is talking about her mother again but she is not going to make the same mistake twice. She may be a child but she's no fool, and she can recognize a trap when she sees it.

The Evil Queen smirks wickedly and her expression morphs into one of slight content when she realizes that Emma is not caving. She makes a little approving sound with her voice and momentarily averts her eyes from Emma's.

"I don't suppose your dear mother ever told you the truth about herself, did she?" Regina asks, looking at Emma out of the corner of her eye. She watches the girl struggle with her mind, shifting on her feet as the seed of doubt takes root in her. The Queen smiles in satisfaction. "No, I don't suppose she did." She adds in a lower tone, which sounds significantly softer. She can feel Emma's green eyes boring holes into her skin with the intensity of her gaze. "Didn't you ever wonder how I became The Evil Queen?" She asks, finally turning to look at Emma in the eye.

Emma watches The Evil Queen in silence, taking in her words with caution. She shouldn't believe a word this woman says and yet… there's something in the way her eyes twinkle with a tinge of sadness that pulls her in every time.

No, she never wondered why Regina became The Evil Queen. She is the villain after all. Villains are the bad guys, and the stories her mother always read to her were about the good guys. It never occurred to her to think about the bad guys as anything more than an obstacle that the good guys had to face in order to find their happy ending.

"Didn't you ever think that maybe I wasn't always The Evil Queen?" Regina asks, snapping Emma out of her absorption.

The girl sucks in her lower lip and bites down hard on it. She shakes her head, because she doesn't trust her voice right now, nor does she dare interrupt this moment of precarious openness that The Queen is offering her.

"Evil isn't born, little girl," The Evil Queen pokes her head between the iron bars of her cell, "It's _made_." And with that she leaves, turning around hastily and disappearing in a cloud of purple of smoke.

Emma runs to the bars as the cloud of purple smoke begins to fade. She grips the bars and pokes her head through them. "Wait!" She screams to an empty corridor. It's too late. The Queen is gone once more. Though, this time, she's left the torches alight.

Emma lets out a surprised little breath and her eyes blink under the amber light of the torches. She smiles in relief and tilts her head up, as though she were soaking in the light from the sun. It's ridiculous how something she'd taken for granted all of her life can now be so welcomed and craved at the same time.

 _Light_.

Light to cast away the shadows, to chase away the darkness of the cell in which she remains prisoner once again.

Light to keep her company. Light to keep her small sliver of hope alive.

 _Yes_ , Emma thinks. She will never take the small things for granted like that again.

Using her hands to push herself away from the iron bars, Emma walks back to her cot and plops down on it. She lets out a shaky breath because even though she's happy about having light in the cell again, she cannot shake The Evil Queen's words from her mind, and she hates her for it. She's not supposed to feel intrigued about her.

The woman sparked something inside her, a side that she undoubtedly inherited from her mother Snow, and that is the unwavering need to always see the good in people. That's why Emma cannot detach the cruel woman who hits her and who plays mind games with her from the image she has now implanted in her mind, an image of a once innocent young girl who, by unknown circumstances of her life, ended up turning evil.

What's more, The Evil Queen suggested her mother Snow had something to do with that. She called her a traitor, and a murderer. Those aren't accusations to be taken lightly.

Emma knows she shouldn't believe a word this woman says, especially when she's this cruel and mean to her, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit that Regina managed to seed doubts in her. Now she can't help but wonder what more lies beneath, what more of this story remains hidden from the ears of men.

Whatever it is; whatever more The Evil Queen has to say about her mother and about her past, Emma wants to know. She needs to know the truth, whatever it may be.

Emma runs a hand through her tousled blonde locks. She doesn't understand why this woman can rattle her this way, why she can crawl under her skin and make her doubt things that, up to this point, she knew to be the unwavering truth.

There's something infinitely captivating about the way The Evil Queen's whole demeanor changes when she lowers her guards and lets Emma take a peek inside the woman trapped within the Queen. It makes her look more accessible, more vulnerable, and Emma feels as if she could actually reach her.

And maybe it's silly of her, maybe it's a childish feeling, but Emma believes that if she can reach her, then the woman will stop being so cruel to her.

Emma sighs, letting all of her pent up frustration go with that one long breath. Her eyes skim over the tiny cell slowly without particular purpose, but something odd captures her attention. There's a glimmer on the floor, a small sparkling light shinning from the right corner of her cell.

Emma slides down to her feet and, without averting her eyes from the curious object, she makes her way over to the corner of the cell and crouches down in front of it. The object stops shinning the moment Emma's body blocks the light streaming from the corridor, and she can finally see the object for what it truly is: a shard of glass.

Emma frowns, picking up the shard with careful fingers. She brings the object up to her eyes, wanting to get a better look at it. The shard has a perfect triangular shape and it looks rather sharp. Emma points it to the corridor and the light of the torches gets reflected back on the surface.

So that's why it shone.

Emma gets to her feet, holding the shard of glass between her thumb and index finger, and walks back to her cot. As she observes it, she wonders why there is a piece of broken glass in her cell in the first place. It's a little odd to find a shard of glass lying against a wall of a cell like that.

Emma remembers that, once, her father David had brought her down to the dungeons in their castle. There were some prisoners behind a few cells, all of them male and terribly mean looking. She can recall how frightened she'd been of those men; she'd clung to her father's leg throughout the whole visit. She'd been young, fairly younger than she is now, and she'd never seen something so dark and obscure as their castle dungeons before.

Her father had shown her their prisoners and explained to her why a sovereign should sometimes imprison bad people. He'd also shown her around the cells. Emma remembers that all of them were exceedingly orderly and clean – in the sense that they were devoid of objects inside. Those cells had only a cot and a window with bars. Her father had explained to her why the cells were barren, it was because the prisoners could become quite resourceful while locked inside with nothing but time in their hands. Sometimes even a tiny pebble could be used as a weapon or some sort of key to escape. That's why they had guards monitoring the cells and the prisoners every few hours, ensuring that there was nothing inside that could be used for their escape and checking that their behavior was proper.

Emma twists the shard of glass around and watches it with rapt attention. She knows that it shouldn't be here. This shard of glass could either function as a weapon or even a key to the door of her cell, if she used it right.

She frowns and bites the inside of her cheek, pensively. No. This shard of glass was put here by someone, although she doesn't know why. Was somebody trying to help her escape?

It was conveniently placed against the corner of her cell, in a way that it would stay standing and not be accidentally knocked over. That suggested that even the positioning of the glass was not random. This had been thought out with deliberate care. But why? And, more importantly, by whom?

Emma's eyes rake the floor of the cell. There are no other shards of glass or odd objects, just her cot and the bucket of water.

The fact that this shard of glass is the only one in her cell also tells her that nothing accidentally broke inside, and further adds to her theory that someone put it there for a reason.

 _Why?_

Emma closes her eyes and mentally berates herself for not having any answers. She shakes her head and sucks in her lower lip. She will not come up with the answer, and she's suddenly very tired mentally. Her brain feels like it runs an emotionally devastating marathon every time she faces The Evil Queen.

She lies down on her cot, making herself as small as she can in order to preserve some of her body heat and sets the shard of glass beside her. She looks at it, long and steady, trying to decipher its purpose inside her cell, until she feels her eyes drooping and, eventually, she falls asleep.

* * *

" _I don't understand," Emma says, frowning at the woman in front of her. "Why are you letting me out?"_

 _The Evil Queen smirks. "My little birds told me you have been a very good girl."_

 _Even though Emma is beginning to suspect that there are no real birds inside the cell block, she still looks around instinctively. Of course, she doesn't find them. The only living creatures down here are she and The Evil Queen._

" _I like good little girls, my dear." The Evil Queen adds, stressing the word 'good' in a way that, if Emma actually knew what it meant, she'd say it was very suggestive._

 _The woman takes one step back and lifts up her hand. The lock makes a clicking sound and the bars slide slowly to the side, setting Emma free from her cell._

 _Emma watches The Evil Queen in shock, lips parted and her posture in a rigid stance. For a moment, she is clueless as to what to do, but the Queen seems to read her mind._

" _Come along now, child." She says, beckoning her with her hand. "You're free…" Emma lowers her head and rapidly walks out of her cell, afraid of the Queen changing her mind. "From the cell, that is."_

Emma lets out a tired breath and shakes her head to clear the thoughts that had assaulted her mind. She has to hurry. In some minutes, Alma will be back to check up on her and she has to be ready by then.

Emma runs her hands down her white dress to smooth out imaginary wrinkles and then takes a step back from the bed, standing straight and looking down to her bare feet. She kneels on the ground and quickly puts on her white shoes.

This dress is long and her shoes are barely visible underneath, which Emma is thankful for. She doesn't think she'd have time to put on anything else.

As if on cue, Alma bursts through the double doors of her bedchambers a second later, just when Emma is standing back up.

"Yer ready, my child?" She asks, walking up to the young girl with brisk steps.

Emma sees that the old woman looks rather flustered and that her cheeks are pink. There are a few beads of sweat running down her temples, as if she'd just run a marathon to get up here.

"Yes," Emma replies, letting Alma pick up the hairbrush from the bed and straighten down her messy curls with it.

"Now yer ready," The woman says with a small smile, settling the brush back down and turning Emma around by the arms to take a look at her. "Beautiful."

Emma smiles at her. This woman is the only one good thing that has come out of living under The Evil Queen's rule.

Alma is kind to her and she's the only one who talks to her, whenever she thinks no one is listening. She helps her dress and always makes sure that Emma is ready on time, for whatever it is that the Queen requests her presence for. Tonight, it's dinner servicing again and Emma has to make an appearance in the Dining Room for the first time after the almost chocking-to-death incident. The girl is incredibly nervous about it, even more so because she knows that the Queen won't be dining alone this time around.

Alma told her that the Queen has guests tonight, important men from another Kingdom that have travelled all the way to the castle to strike a deal with Queen Regina.

Emma doesn't really care about the reason these people are here for, she just wants to make sure that she doesn't enrage the Queen again and risk being strangled alive once more. She doesn't think she has a good chance of making it out alive a second time.

Emma lets out a shaky breath.

Alma takes both her hands in hers and gives them a little squeeze, trying to make her feel a little better.

Emma smiles warmly at the old woman. "Then I guess it's time to go. I wouldn't want to keep the Queen waiting."

Alma chuckles lightly at her jibe. "No, we wouldn't want that." She lets go of Emma's hands and reaches out for the swan necklace that hangs loosely over the dress. She tucks it behind the fabric of the dress and then pats the girl in the forearm. "Off you go now."

"Wish me luck," Emma says.

"Good luck, my child."

Emma lightly nods her head in gratitude to the old woman and turns on her heel to leave.

Outside her door there are two guards, as always clad in black and faces hidden behind a cross-shaped mask. Each man comes to stand at Emma's flanks and with one ceremonial foot stomp, they begin to lead the way down to the Dining Room.

Emma follows them in tow, not paying attention to where they are heading in the slightest. Her mind is off, chasing some wandering thoughts about her family and the people back in her castle. She subconsciously touches the swan under the fabric of her dress and gives it a gentle tug to remind herself that it is truly there, but when she realizes what she's doing she lets her hand drop down to her side, and focuses her eyes back on the corridor.

They reach the Dining Room faster than Emma was expecting and she finds that her heart is racing in her chest in anticipation.

Both her escorts stop in front of the door, and one of them knocks twice, making himself known to the people inside.

If the guard receives a reply from the other side of the door, Emma doesn't know. She can't hear anything outside of the hammering of her own heart against her ribcage. She turns her head to chance a look at the guard at her right. The man is so tall that he could very easily be double her size. She wants to make sure that he can't hear her heart almost jumping out of her throat, and apparently he can't, or if he does, he does a fine job ignoring it, because he stays as still as a rock.

After what feels like an eternity to the young girl, the double oak doors are opened from the inside and the guard standing to her left orders her to get moving.

Emma directs him a wistful look before complying and walking into the massive Dining Room. The door closes behind her, making a loud sound in its wake. Emma gives a little jump, clearly startled by the unexpected noise.

Her worried green eyes travel alongside the narrow and overly long table. Even though she seems to be deliberately avoiding looking at the people inside, her eyes do find those of The Evil Queen's.

The woman is once more sitting at the far end of the table, dressed in a tight-fitting deep blue gown with silver embroidery, and with her hair in a swirly updo, adorned by a silver hair-band on front. She's the embodiment of power and beauty, and Emma gulps the moment a pair of dark, mirthful eyes settle on hers.

The Queen looks like a predator, sitting on her high chair with both her arms on the armrests and her head tilted upwards, as if she owned not just this castle and the people inside, but the whole world as well.

And maybe she does.

Emma forces herself to tear away her gaze from the Queen's hypnotic dark eyes and, instead, focuses her attention on the rest of the people there, people she's going to have to serve tonight.

There are only other two people, aside from The Evil Queen and Emma. However, the table is once again overflowing with food, as if they were actually expecting a crowd of Princes and Ambassadors over for dinner. Emma grimaces at the almost obscene sight and wills her feet to move again. She can't remain rooted to the ground forever, unless she wants to be punished again, which she doesn't.

Halfway to the wine table – Emma figures these men will want to have their cups filled first thing – The Evil Queen raises her hand in the air, catching Emma's attention and effectively halting her steps.

"Princess Emma," The Evil Queen announces, loud enough to be heard by everyone inside. "Snow White's daughter."

Two dark heads turn in her direction then. Emma freezes, feeling her heart thudding against her ribcage by the look of pure disgust and derision that these men are giving her. If she'd been holding that pitcher of wine, she would have certainly dropped it.

"Come closer, dear," The Evil Queen's melodic voice breaks the rapidly escalating tension in the room. "Don't be shy."

Emma lowers her gaze as she walks past the two foreigners, afraid that one of them might launch himself at her as she passes by. She only stops when she sees that she's reached the Queen's side.

"You requested my presence?" Emma asks in a small voice.

"Yes, dear," The Evil Queen smiles lopsidedly at her, though Emma's eyes are still cast to the ground. "Help these gentlemen to the wine and then return to me."

Emma promptly turns on her heel and heads for the wine table again. When her hands reach out for the pitcher, she notices that they are trembling. She feels like a child, younger than her actual age, terrified of these people whom she does not know and who pose such a threat to her life. None of these men hold any affection for her mother Snow, which means that they don't like her either by default. What's more, if they are here to engage in some sort of deal with The Evil Queen, it can only mean that these men are as ruthless as she is.

She never used to be afraid of anything. She used to be careless and free, because she knew that she counted on her father's protection and because she knew she was above everyone's station back in her castle. She was untouchable. She was out of reach from everything and everyone. And whereas she strived to be free from the burden of her crown, she never imagined that her wings could be cut in this fashion. Emma never imagined that even a bird, with its wings to fly away and be free, could be caged and chained like this.

Now, she is nothing. She doesn't have her crown and she doesn't have her wings. She is nothing.

And she is just beginning to realize that.

Emma lets out a long breath and picks up the pitcher in her hands. She carries it slowly over to the table and approaches the man nearest to her. He doesn't even turn to look at her when she fills his cup, for which Emma is utterly grateful. She's feeling jumpy and she wouldn't want to spill the wine all over his fancy looking garments.

When she's done with his cup, she moves to the following man, who is sitting next to the former, and tilts the pitcher so that the wine can spill freely into the man's cup. She fills it to the brim and then sets the wine pitcher in front of him.

Emma backs up a step and moves around the man's chair, ready to go back to The Evil Queen's side, as she had ordered her to. She's almost out of reach when she feels a hand slap her buttocks. Emma startles at the contact and lets out a tiny shriek of pure terror. She jumps out of the man's reach then and looks back at him with horrified eyes.

The man gives her a lecherous grin and says, "That's one fine piece of ass." He cracks up, and his companion follows right after him. Their bodies shake with laughter and one of them makes his cup tumble and almost fall over to the table.

Emma snaps her head to look at the Queen, who is eyeing the men with an unreadable expression on her face. The woman extends her hand out to Emma and the young girl walks up to her, with her cheeks on fire, but not uttering a single word.

When she reaches the Queen's side, the woman turns to look at her. "Kneel," she commands in a voice that leaves no room for discussion. Her dark eyes have turned to obsidian and there's a spark of rage ablaze in them. Emma can practically feel the hatred emanating off of her in waves. It's like a black aura that surrounds her.

Emma stares back at her for a fraction of a second. She can feel her own eyes watering in humiliation by what she just experienced.

Both men are still laughing hysterically in the background, oblivious to their exchange.

For the first time in her life, Emma feels a surge of hatred rushing through her veins. She clenches her fists at her sides and bites down hard on her lip. She wants nothing more than to answer back to The Evil Queen, to disobey her order and then give these men a piece of her mind. Instead, Emma drops to her knees and smacks her tears away angrily before anyone can see them. She will not let these people make a fool of her. She may not have much control over what they do to her but she does have control over her thoughts and her emotions. So, if they are trying to get a rise out of her, they will not achieve it, for she will not let them know what she's feeling inside.

Emma trains her eyes on the double oak doors of the Dining Room, which seem so incredibly out of reach right now, and tries with all her might to ignore the scandalous laughter of the two men ringing in her ears.

"Yes, you are quite right, Gaston." The Evil Queen says once their laughter has died down.

The man who had smacked Emma, Gaston, makes an approving sound with his voice and then turns to his companion, who has a lustful gleam in his eyes.

"It's a pity that she's _mine_." The Evil Queen places a hand on the top of Emma's head and, when the girl wriggles to get free from the touch, she increases the pressure, effectively holding her down in place.

Upon hearing this, the two men's faces – especially Gaston's – turn ashen. Gaston shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable under the Queen's unforgiving gaze.

"Forgive me, Majesty," Gaston says, a strong accent marking his words. "I wasn't aware."

"Oh, believe me, I know." The Evil Queen replies, smirking in delight at the way the two men have been rendered into a pair of stammering fools in front of her. "If I knew you were aware I would have cut that sneaky hand right off your arm, here and now." She finishes the sentence with a wicked grin, which makes Gaston shiver involuntarily.

Emma watches the interaction in shocked silence. She doesn't understand exactly what's being said or what The Evil Queen meant about being hers, but she's certainly not complaining. Watching Gaston squirm under the woman's gaze makes the mortifying moment at least a bit more bearable.

The man next to Gaston clears his throat, trying to ease the tension in the room. And it works, because The Evil Queen sweeps her murderous glare to him instead. The man opens and closes his mouth twice before any sound can come forth.

"Uh, I think we have some businesses to discuss."

The Evil Queen smiles to herself and her fingers tangle softly in Emma's blonde hair. It makes the girl shift uncomfortably under her but, otherwise, she doesn't protest. She only stays put because, in one way or another, this awful woman has just put Gaston back in his place when there was nothing she could have done to defend herself without getting punished for it later.

"Indeed," the Queen says in a low, seductive voice, as she runs her fingertips across Emma's scalp.

Emma closes her eyes involuntarily at the sensation and a shiver runs up her spine. She feels shame rising in her gut, for she should not be enjoying this, but she is. It soothes her somehow and reminds her of her mother's loving touch. Only that this couldn't be farther from that. This is not her mother and the touch, although gentle at the moment, could never be referred to as loving.

"As you well know, there was a minor complication that forced me to momentarily stand down my army from the battlefield. However, I intend to change that."

"And how, if I may ask, do you plan to achieve that, Majesty?" Gaston's companion asks.

The hand on Emma's blonde locks tightens unexpectedly, causing Emma to flinch at the slight pain that the action provokes her.

"Well, that's where _you_ come in, gentlemen." The Evil Queen says, slowly unclenching her fingers from the iron grip on Emma's hair. "You both are skilled commanders and in possession of one of the largest armies in the Enchanted Forest, after my own."

"That's correct," Gaston replies, sitting a little straighter on his chair, now that he's received praise from the Queen.

"The peace treaty I signed ties my hands," at the mention of the treaty, Emma trains her ears to listen more intently. She knows with certainty now that these people are indirectly talking about her parents. "But I can still cross my fingers behind my back."

It's an analogy.

Emma's heart freezes in her chest. It's an analogy and she knows that, but what does it mean? She has a bad feeling about this. The Evil Queen is talking about the war she waged against her parents for years. She's asking these men for something: their armies, perhaps? But she can't go to war, she signed a peace treaty that prevents her from doing so. There will be consequences if she doesn't keep her end of the deal.

 _No_.

Emma shakes her head. The Evil Queen said so herself; the treaty is tying up her hands, which means she can't act. But what does she mean by 'being able to cross her fingers behind her back'?

Whatever she means by that, it can't be good.

"I need you to be the face of my mask," The Queen adds, smirking proudly.

Gaston elbows his friend and grins at the Queen, who pats Emma's head lightly as if she were a dog that has to be petted.

"Do we have a deal?" She asks.

"Yeah," Gaston says, "We do."

The Evil Queen smiles evilly at him. "I suppose you know where Snow White's Kingdom is."

Emma's heart stops. It doesn't matter what the analogy means anymore, not now that she knows they are in fact plotting to attack her mother's Kingdom. She bolts to her feet and whirls around to bore her eyes into The Evil Queen's.

"You can't do that!" Emma's breathing quickens, as she feels desperation clawing at her insides. "You signed a treaty. You can't attack them!"

"I'm The Evil Queen, little girl." She says, lips smirking up in twisted satisfaction. "Since when do I keep my word?"

The Queen's words pierce a whole right through her and she feels the weight of realization hitting her like an exploding bomb. Emma takes a hand to her chest, where she feels her heart hammering out of control. Her vision blurs and for a moment she's sure she's going to pass out.

"But you can't," she pants out, hot tears splashing down her cheeks. "Please, don't do this." Emma whispers pleadingly in a broken voice. She feels so desperate and so incredibly helpless that she would throw herself to her knees and beg for mercy if she knew it would have any effect.

The Evil Queen's smile turns into an evil grin. "Oh, but I will," she informs her, enjoying every second of Emma's misery. "And you know what the best part is?"

Emma chokes on her tears when one resigned word falls from her mouth, "No."

The Evil Queen bends forward on her seat and reaches for Emma's hands. The young girl feels so faint that she doesn't even try to tug herself free. Instead, she lets the Queen's cold hands envelop hers and grip her bones until she hisses in pain.

"By the time I'm through with you and that stupid peace treaty is over, _you_ will be leading my army, _willingly_."

* * *

The moment the door to her bedchambers closes behind her, Emma runs back to it, slamming her small body against the wooden surface, trying to get it to open again.

"Open up!" She screams, banging her fists against the door.

When she receives no answer from the guards posted outside, Emma backs up a few steps and charges against the door again, hitting the wood with her right side. The door creaks in protest but doesn't budge an inch.

"Argh!" Emma yells and pulls out her hair in frustration.

The door is locked from the outside and so her attempts are futile. It only serves to hurt herself and after a few missed attempts, her right shoulder starts to throb painfully.

Her mind keeps going over what she heard at the Dining Hall.

The Evil Queen is plotting against her parents. She's using these two foreigners as pawns, asking them to take the lead in a war that's not even theirs to begin with; meanwhile the queen hides in her castle, blameless from the plot she's concocted with her own two hands. That way she doesn't break the treaty and she still can attack her mother's Kingdom.

Emma has to warn her parents, she has to somehow let them know of the Queen's betrayal. Otherwise, they'll be caught off guard and many innocents will die. She has to warn them.

 _But how?_

Emma paces, racking her brain for a solution that seems impossible to grasp.

Suddenly, realization dawns on her, hitting her hard like a thunderbolt, and she has to grip the post of the bed to keep herself upright.

"No," she whispers brokenly, feeling faint.

Now she understands why The Evil Queen wanted to cut all kind of human contact from her.

The main factor behind human relationships is getting to know the other, and the only way to do that, the only way to grow close to someone, is by talking to them.

By forbidding everyone in the castle to either look or speak to her, The Evil Queen ensured that Emma would not be able to establish a relationship with anyone, therefore making sure that she would have no allies, no one to turn to when _this_ came to pass.

Emma's body sways and she leans more heavily against the wooden post of the bed. Her breath is coming in short gasps and her vision is blurred.

The Evil Queen already has the means to attack her mother's Kingdom. Nothing stops her from destroying everything and everyone in her path now.

She needs to get out of here; she needs to find a way to communicate with her parents.

She has to escape.

Her eyes roam about the room, looking for something, anything that can help her get out of her gilded cage. The door is not an option at moment. It's locked and there are guards posted outside, ensuring that she doesn't attempt anything as foolish as precisely what she's trying to do. She'll have to think of something else.

Her green eyes sweep over to the massive windows at each side of her bed. The curtains are swept to the side and the moonlight streams from the window pane.

It's high, she knows. But it will have to work. It's her only chance.

Emma takes a deep breath, summoning some of her inner strength, and pushes herself off of the post. She walks over to the window and gets up on her tiptoes, in order to reach the handles. She turns them counterclockwise and then pulls, letting the chilly night air seep inside. Emma shivers, though from the cold night air or from the huge distance to the ground below, she doesn't know.

She stares at the few bushes and trees that await on the ground. The bedchamber she's in must be, at least, seven meters above them. It's a long way down.

Emma gulps, holding onto the window frame more tightly. She hates heights, and she hates this one in particular even more so.

Letting out a defeated breath, Emma weighs her options. She will most probably die if she jumps. If she's lucky though, she'll end up with a few broken bones all over her body. But if she stays here and decides to do nothing, more than just one person will die, amongst which could be her own parents.

She can't allow that. It's a jump or die trying situation for her.

Emma turns her head over her shoulder, glancing back at the bedspread. A small triumphant smile breaks on her lips when a new idea strikes her. She runs to the bed and begins to toss away all of the pillows. She doesn't need those. Then, she removes the thick bedspread and lets it fall into a heap on the floor. Her focus is solely on the sheets, of which she has two. Emma tugs them out and splays them quickly down on the floor.

Crouching down, Emma makes quick work of the sheets, tying them together by the ends into a secure knot. Then, she runs back to the bedspread and picks it up from the floor.

She thought that maybe she could tie it around one of the posts of the bed, but the fabric is too thick. It will not hold securely around it. She hastily drops it to the side and bends down to pick up the sheets again.

Emma ties one end of the sheet around the bed post and carries the rest in a messy heap over to the window. She takes one glance below, taking in the scary-looking distance to the ground, before dropping down the sheets over the ledge.

The white fabric falls down the tower and bounces slightly up once it reaches its maximum stretch.

Emma bends over the window frame again, this time watching how far down the sheet goes. To her dismay, it only covers half the distance, so she'll have to jump from three to four meters high.

Her heart pounds in her chest at the inevitability of the situation, but Emma hefts herself up onto the ledge anyway and takes a hold of the sheet in the process. She lets out a shuddering breath before turning around, so that she's facing the wall of the castle, and begins her descent.

She plants the sole of her two feet against the wall – one at a time – and pushes off with her legs to keep her position stabilized. Then, she lowers her body a little, letting her hands slide down the sheets, and then gripping them back again.

"Oh, boy," Emma closes her eyes, already breaking into a nervous sweat.

She can feel the weight of her body taking its toll on her arms very fast and her palms beginning to sweat. She refuses to glance down, afraid of what it may do to her if she does, and instead takes one step backwards, – her feet always planted firmly on the wall – and repeats the process.

She's about to lower her body again when she hears an angry voice saying: "Oh, no. You don't."

Emma's head snaps up, meeting a pair of furious dark eyes staring down at her. The shock and the fear that grips her in that moment makes her hands slip from the sheet, and she falls. Emma screams in fright, feeling herself freefalling to the ground.

 _Oh God. Oh God. Oh God._

She clamps her eyes shut, foreseeing the impact against the ground.

It all happens too fast.

Her body bounces up twice and then freezes.

Emma snaps her eyes back open, quickly turning over and expecting to see a pool of blood around her frame. Instead, she lets out a shriek of pure shock when she sees that she's suspended in mid air, floating just a meter above the ground below her.

"What?" She pants out, looking around in confusion.

Then, her body jerks again and a tingling sensation runs down her spine.

Emma notices there's a sparkly purple ring around her waist, just at the same time that her body begins to float slowly up, towards the window again.

Emma flails instinctively, wriggling around in her hold, trying to break free from the magic that is transporting her back up, even though she would fall to the ground if she did. When she realizes that fighting the magic is hopeless, she looks up into a pair of gleaming purple eyes, and gapes at the look of utter concentration in The Evil Queen's face.

Emma wants to fight, to yell at the woman to let her go, but all she does is hang limply, allowing Regina to pull her back up without much resistance at all.

The purple lasso brings her to the ledge and The Evil Queen steps away the moment Emma's feet make contact with the solid window ledge.

The young girl wraps her hands around the window frame and pushes herself into the room, toppling to the ground head-first, and letting out a relieved sigh when her front collides against the cool floor of her bedchamber.

"Were you trying to escape, dear?" A chilly, melodious voice asks, breaking the silence.

Emma's whole body tenses at the sound of The Evil Queen's voice and her breath hitches in her throat, suddenly all too aware of exactly who it is that is in the room with her. She uses her palms to push herself to her knees and slowly lifts her head to look up. Worried green eyes meet furious brown.

"I…"

"Did you actually _think_ that you could escape me?" The Evil Queen snarls, bending over to be at Emma's eye-level.

The girl shudders involuntarily, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up.

The rage that blossoms on The Evil Queen's face is colored ever so slightly by madness. Emma can see it, can almost smell it, suddenly filling the room. Emma takes it in, for a moment forgetting herself, forgetting everything but the look on the woman's face.

"I…" Emma starts again, fear creeping into every single one of her cells, paralyzing her completely. She's terrified of this woman, of the anger that flows off of her in waves, of the sneer on her mouth, of the fury swirling in those two dark eyes. "I didn't – I just…"

Her words are cut off by an agonizing pain spreading through her body like wildfire. Emma's body jerks violently as her eyes clamp shut and her hands ball into tight fists. The magic attacking her feels like a magnetic field discharging thousands of electrical reactions into her body.

She screams, a loud yell ripping from her lungs, echoing in the room.

The Evil Queen crackles evilly, enjoying the crumpled look on the girl's face and the defeated, wounded, fetal position she's adopted on the ground. Then, Regina closes her hand and the painful sensation coursing through the girl's body disappears, as if it had never existed.

Emma pants, desperately trying to catch her breath again. She hugs her knees to her chest, sobbing lightly against her kneecaps.

"Don't you understand?" The Evil Queen asks, looking at the girl with something akin to pity in her crazed dark eyes. She kneels in front of Emma and puts a hand on her hair, the touch so light that could simply be an illusion. "There is no escape." She whispers in a low voice, as if sharing the most precious and yet heartbreaking secret there could be, not just for Emma but for herself as well.

Emma lets out a wracked sob and curls more into herself, trying to shield herself away from the woman kneeling before her. She hates her and she hurts in places she didn't even know she had. Her skin is on fire and she's trembling, shaking wildly on the floor, as if feverish.

"You're _mine_ , Emma." The Evil Queen says, running her hand through Emma's blonde locks almost tenderly. The young girl instinctively flinches at the touch and The Evil Queen pulls back as if she'd been burnt, and quickly rises to her feet again. "You are a _prisoner_ here. You're my possession and you will do as I say, or I will have to hurt you." Her voice turns icy and precise.

Emma cries and her body trembles with the force of her sobs. She now knows that The Evil Queen doesn't fool around with her words. This is a promise. She will hurt her in any way she sees fit if she doesn't play by the rules.

"If you try something foolish like escaping again, I will punish you." She threatens and then turns around to leave, but before she closes the door, she adds: "Don't fret, child. You'll learn to love your chains."

* * *

She doesn't know how long she lays there, as still and unmoving as the waters of a frozen lake, exhausted and yet unable to sleep. Her bed feels like a hard and unforgiving stone beneath her aching body.

Emma's eyes remain open, fixed on the far wall. She doesn't blink, because she's not really seeing. She's asleep while awake, prey to a sea of treacherous thoughts that push her underwater time and again. She fights her way to the surface and when she thinks she might be free of the danger that lurks around her, an invisible force pushes back down again until her lungs burn and, just when she feels like she's going to drown, the force keeping her underwater lets go and she swims back up again.

That, more or less, is how Emma feels right now, like she's drowning, unable to escape the tide and yet not fully dying. Somehow, she manages to breathe just enough air to keep her alive. But then the cycle begins all over again.

The Evil Queen is that invisible force pushing her underwater, she knows that. But she also knows that The Evil Queen saved her from that fall, which would have inevitably killed her.

She doesn't understand. This is too complicated for her young and innocent mind, and she's weary and feeling the first tinges of melancholy arising.

Emma misses her family, her home. She wonders why her father hasn't rallied an army to come and rescue her yet. She wonders what is taking him so long.

Emma is aware that her parents signed a treaty with The Evil Queen, in which they vowed to cease fire, and Emma was the insurance that The Evil Queen needed to agree to it. But if Regina is not going to keep her end of the deal, if she's going to send men to attack her parents, then why aren't they trying to save her from this woman's clutches too? Surely they are entitled to it if The Evil Queen thinks she can plot against them.

Emma feels a cold fist closing over her heart. She made a mistake in offering herself as leverage. The Evil Queen is not going to respect the peace treaty and that makes her sacrifice worthless. She could be with her parents right now and instead she's locked inside a gilded cage, hurt and alone.

A lonely tear springs from her eye and rolls down her cheek. Emma lets out a shuddering breath as she calls forth a mental image of her parents, smiling warmly at her.

She recalls her mother's words about the swan necklace. The gift is supposed to be her link to them, some sort of emotional tether, and yet it feels cold and heavy against her chest.

The door cringes in protest when somebody slowly pushes it open. Steps follow, but Emma doesn't turn to see who it is. She keeps her gaze locked on the far wall, unseeing eyes misting over.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma spots a blur of white. She figures it must be Alma because she's the only one who comes into her bedchambers, aside from The Evil Queen, and if it was the latter, Emma would have known the moment the evil woman set foot inside. The air cracks with angry tension every time that woman is in the same room as her.

"I brought you somethin to eat, child." Alma says, breaking the silence in the room.

Emma hears her but it's like her brain can't process the words.

The metallic sounds of cutlery colliding makes Emma frown and shut her eyes, as if there was a loud commotion going on.

Alma sets the tray of food on the floor and then kneels in front of her. She puts a hand on Emma's forearm, though the touch is very light and Emma barely feels it at all.

"She hurt you, didn't she?"

That catches Emma's attention. She pushes herself up on her elbow and sharply turns to look at the kneeling old woman.

"You know?" She asks, confused and a little scared too.

Alma frowns and her lips curl downwards. "I was hopin she'd spare you." She glances down blankly, unable to make eye contact with Emma again.

Emma sits up slowly, letting her legs dangle from the edge of the bed. Then, she leans over and stretches out a hand to lift Alma's chin, gently coaxing her to look at her in the eye.

"It's ok," Emma whispers, "It wasn't your fault."

"Lemme see," Alma pleads, scooting a little bit closer to the girl.

Emma looks into a pool of sad sky blue eyes for a moment and then sighs, shoulders hunching. She turns around on the bed, and Alma unzips her dress down to the waist. A loud, horrified gasp follows and Emma flinches a little at the shocked reaction from the older woman.

"That bad, huh?" Emma asks, trying to make light of the situation, but a pained whimper escapes her lips right after, when Alma ghosts over one particularly sore welt with the tip of her finger.

"I'm so sorry, child."

Emma shrugs away from Alma's gentle touch, quickly bringing her dress back up to cover the result of her encounter with The Evil Queen. Then, she turns again, not caring about her unzipped dress that threatens to fall down again, and bores her eyes intently into Alma's.

"You need to help me, Alma," she says, taking the old woman's hand into her tiny ones and squeezing almost desperately. "You have to help me escape."

Alma flinches away at that, looking horrified by the sheer suggestion of escaping The Evil Queen. Her hands slip free of Emma's grasp. "Have you gone mad?"

"Why?" Emma's eyes widen in alarm when Alma's face becomes a mask of terror.

"Don't you know by now, child?"

Emma tilts her head, wary of the answer. "Know what?" She asks, feeling her heart beginning to flutter erratically in her chest.

Alma leans closer and she whispers, "You cain't escape." Emma gasps, pulling away sharply. "No one has ever escaped this castle."

"No," Emma breathes out, shaking her head in denial. "No, that can't be true."

"I'm sorry, child." Alma reaches out to touch her hand, but Emma pulls her arm away hastily.

"No. You're lying." She says, feeling her breath quickening and the beat of her hammering heart. "You just don't want to help me because you're afraid."

"Listen to me, child." Alma says in a serious tone. "If you try to escape, yer only gonna get killed." Tears spring from Emma's eyes as she presses her arms against her chest, trying to fend herself from the pain of the truth. "You need to watch and learn," Alma says, boring her eyes into the girl's intently, trying to convey the sense of urgency that the matter deserves. "Watch, learn and survive." Emma lets out a strangled cry. "You cain't fight her. You cain't escape. Yer never will, so you need to learn to survive. That's th'only way outta here." Alma takes Emma's trembling hand in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. Then, she lets go and Emma's arm falls limply to the side. "Eat now. Yer gonna need yer strength."

The old woman stands up and slowly leaves the room, closing the door behind her with a soft _click_.

Emma stares out, unseeing, tears falling out of her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. Her face is ashen and her heart races madly in her chest.

There's a sinking feeling in her gut. She feels abandoned and powerless. Her hope of escaping has just been crushed to dust in front of her and now she has to deal with the aftermath of it. As if she could. As if she could deal with anything.

She can't escape, she can't fight back. She will not be rescued by her parents. She's been abandoned by everyone and now she's under the clutches of an evil who will do with her as she pleases for as long as she finds her amusing. The moment she decides Emma has no purpose anymore, she'll dispose of her like an unwanted rag doll.

 _Watch._

 _Learn._

 _Survive._

Emma's tears cloud her vision and a loud sob erupts from her lips. She doesn't know how to do that, she doesn't know what to do to survive. She wishes her mother were here right now. She would know what to do. She would be brave.

But her parents have abandoned her. They will not come to her rescue.

Emma is alone. She's an orphan now and she has to learn how to fend for herself.

The young girl glances down at the tray of food. There's bread, soup and water. She hasn't eaten since yesterday and yet the mere sight of food makes her stomach churn. She looks away and instead lets her body fall back against the mattress. She feels drained, both physically and mentally.

Closing her eyes, Emma wishes she could go into an eternal sleep and never wake up again.

* * *

She wakes up, startled, to the sound of screams.

Emma bolts upright in bed and looks around frantically. No one is inside her bedchambers, and yet the screaming coming from outside makes it seem like someone's being tortured right beside her.

The sounds are horrible - pained, strangled and hoarse. It makes her breath quicken and chills run down her spine.

She looks around again. Her room is plunged into darkness, only the moonlight streaming from the window casts some light inside.

No one's inside. She knows that. There's no reason for her to be afraid, and yet she can't control the frantic beating of her heart.

Deep down she knows someone is being punished about some misdeed.

Deep down she knows that it could be very well be her.

The terrifying yells pierce the veil of darkness and the barriers of space around her. They echo on the walls and reverberate throughout Emma's bedchambers. She takes her hands to her ears to try and block the sounds from reaching her, but it's futile. She can still hear.

Emma drops her arms and slides down her bed, quickly running to the door. There's something about these screams that makes her skin crawl. She presses her body against the wood and trains her ear to hear where the pained sounds are coming from.

The screams seem to come from everywhere at once. They sound close, too close for comfort, perhaps.

Emma wills her heart to slow down its hammering against her ribcage so that she can hear above its frantic beating. She breathes in and out, trying to control her own breath intake. After a minute or two, it seems to work and her heart falls back to its normal pace.

Emma presses herself more tightly against the door, with her left ear pressed against the wood.

Another scream pierces the night, making Emma gasp with its intensity. She gulps nervously. She doesn't like the way it sounds. She can almost picture in her mind's eye what is being done to that person.

A woman.

The screams' belong to a woman.

It's terrifying. To think that it could be her in those merciless hands. To think that it could be her screaming her lungs out like that.

Emma presses her eyes closed, trying to block out the sudden surge of bloody images that flood her mind. But the screaming keeps coming, keeps seeping in, keeps haunting her. Emma's legs tremble under her and she feels like she can no longer support her weight. She slides down to the ground and buries her head between her hands.

There's something she can't evade, that she can't ignore anymore, and it's the fact that there's something about these horrifying screams that she recognizes. As if she knew who it is that's being so brutally punished.

Emma doesn't want to let that knowledge into her mind, but deep within she already knows.

She knows, she just knows. It's the voice, that deep, low, menacing voice.

She thinks she should be happy, or at least feel a bit victorious. Instead, she feels dirty.

And sad.

She wants to make the screaming stop. She wants to make this insane punishment stop.

Emma hugs her knees to her chest and begins to rock herself back and forth, in a futile attempt at soothing herself.

It doesn't work. She fears nothing could ever make her feel better anymore.

But then, suddenly, the screaming stops and a heavy, pregnant silence, replaces the haunting sounds that invaded the halls.

Emma looks up from her hands, and when she feels moisture there, she realizes she'd been crying without knowing. She slowly stands up, turning to look at the door. She takes a few steps back, eyes trained upfront.

Emma doesn't know what is going to happen next, if anything at all, and yet…

She begins to count backwards in her mind, all the while backtracking with trembling steps.

 _Ten_.

She takes in a big gulp of air.

 _Nine_.

Emma exhales, hearing the way in which the air slowly leaves her lungs. It sounds like a whistle. Low, hushed. Like the wind.

 _Eight_.

She hears it then: footsteps. She gasps.

 _Seven_.

Emma knows the sound of those footsteps - slow, unhurried, purposeful, light as the wind. She trembles.

 _Six_.

Emma dares to chance a look around. Just as everyone has told her, there is no escape, nowhere to run.

 _Five_.

Her eyes go back to the door. Suddenly, the one thing locking her inside doesn't feel as unbreakable and inexorable as before. Emma can't help but feel naked in her vulnerability.

 _Four_.

A tear runs down her cheek and she closes her eyes, letting a shuddering breath out. There's no escape.

 _Three_.

Watch, learn, survive. Those words come rushing into her mind and Emma holds onto them like a prayer. Survive. Just survive.

 _Two_.

Emma's back hits the wall behind her. The footsteps stop in front of her door. She shudders.

 _One_.

Emma opens her eyes at the same time that the wooden door flies off its hinges with a loud explosion.

A figure clad in black stands over the threshold. Darkness bathes her face, but Emma knows who it is that the shadows hide.

The figure takes two steps into the room, letting the moonlight disclose the mask that darkness created for her.

Blood trails down her temple and down her cheek. There is a large bruise covering one of her crazed, abnormally black eyes, and a sinister grin on her lips.

Emma trembles under the sight.

The Evil Queen has come for her.


End file.
